


Catalysts

by fandom_susceptible, Misukitt



Series: Autobot Central Command [2]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Class Differences, Doctor Ratchet, Doctor/Patient, F/M, First Kiss, Implied marital rape, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Ironhide is a good bro, M/M, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, Meeting the Parents, None of this is Ratchet I swear, Oh-hoh, Original Character Death(s), Ratchet is a good person, Slave Ironhide, Slow Burn, Tags May Change, Worldbuilding, mentions of Arranged Marriage, sort of, war hints
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-11-05 21:47:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 41,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11022246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandom_susceptible/pseuds/fandom_susceptible, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misukitt/pseuds/Misukitt
Summary: Ratchet does his best to help the former slave, Ironhide, adjust to life on the surface.  At the same time, he is drafted to work on a noble femme from Velocitron.  As he struggles to come to terms with his growing feelings for her, he realizes Ironhide may have a few things to teach him as well.





	1. Settling In

**Author's Note:**

> Picks up basically right were "From the Mines to the Surface", first of the series, left off. It draws from that heavily, but you should be able to pick up most of the relevant information from this. At the same time, if you have time to read less than 700 words, you should probably read that first.
> 
> Forgive the awful title.
> 
> Disclaimer: If I owned it, it would be official, not marketed as fanfiction.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short and simple, Ironhide being introduced to living in a house - Ratchet's.

     Ratchet shifted out of alt-mode, glancing over his shoulder at the clearly uncomfortable Ironhide.  He grunted irritably as he punched in the code to his door lock, feigning indifference but taking note of the mech's limping stride.  Both legs probably hurt right now.  He'd had to substitute several parts in the one knee; that one would probably always bother him.  Not for the first time he mentally cursed the inadequacy of the slave-relevant medical supply and reserve.  He beckoned Ironhide in behind him, only to receive an uncertain, indirect, and distinctly wary glance in return.

     He stopped and regarded the slave for a moment. "You've never seen a living soul before today, have you?" He said slowly. "They've never let you out of the mines before."

     Ironhide shook his helm. "Nah.  Bin . . ." He seemed to search for the words. "'In stasis', fer . . . mine . . . change?  Transfer."

     He was rapidly gaining confidence, Ratchet noticed, and arched an optic ridge.  He had a remarkable grasp of language for a mech who'd never been allowed to speak; his clear bulk and brute strength hid an attentive, eager processor.  He decided not to comment yet. "Come in.  This is where you'll be staying until you can make it on your own.  It's my house."

    The structure was modest, with two floors and limited interior space.  It was clearly designed after the very functional, but aesthetically pleasing, Praxian construction, with few sharp edges, but no material wasted.  Ratchet led him to the one berthroom, in the back corner, that had no windows.  For a mech who'd lived in darkness his entire lifestream, it would no doubt be more comfortable than the other spare, sunny one.

     "Make yourself at home." He gestured inside. "That's your space.  I don't enter without your permission unless there's an urgent reason I need you, or a medical emergency inside.  Do you understand?"

     Ironhide gave him a fantastic glitch face. "Ah know more than I say." He said simply, entering the room and looking around.  He didn't seem to quite know what to do with a space all his own; he turned back to Ratchet a moment later, tilting his helm curiously.

     "Well." Ratchet said gruffly. "Come find me when you're hungry.  My energon is likely a lot richer than what you're used to, so you'll have to trust me on cube sizes and grade for a while until your frame adjusts." He paused briefly to see if there was a reply, but when Ironhide said nothing, he simply left.  On one hand, he didn't like leaving the mech unattended, as he could strain or damage his legs with overuse.  On the other, if he was to earn the wary slave's trust, he had to leave him be.  A simple strain wouldn't be too hard to fix, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First fic I've posted that I haven't posted all at once, mainly because I want feedback. I didn't want to be the one to ask for comments, but this is also my first slow burn romance type fic ever, and I don't think I'm very good at it, so if anyone has any suggestions whatsoever I'd be glad to hear them (I'll be honest, just encouragement would be great too if you think I'm doing well).
> 
> Chapter One's really short, but the others should grow in length as I start getting into the story.


	2. Slave Codes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet hadn't been entirely truthful about Ironhide's slavery being over. He still had to fill out the last of the paperwork, and he opts to bring the slave along. What he doesn't expect is to be given an ultimatum: buy him, or let him return to the mines.  
> With Ironhide's legs as they are, it boils down to buy . . . or kill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I know that in no canon universe (I think) is Ironhide actually still a slave. You'll get it by the end, I promise.
> 
> In my fics:  
> Breem = five minutes (used like we use one minute)  
> Joor = two hours (used like we use one hour)  
> Cycle = (full day-night cycle)  
> Solar cycle = daylight hours  
> Lunar cycle = moonlight hours  
> Vorn = two months (used as we use one month)  
> Planetary cycle = year (applied to whatever planet as that planet's year)

     Several days had gone by since Ratchet welcomed Ironhide into his home.  His observation of the miner's quick processor proved to be right.  Within only those few days he was able to speak almost as well as if Common simply wasn't his first language.  He had easily learned how to work the energon dispenser, and the stove, as well as several other appliances.  He seemed oblivious to temperature fluctuations, which was concerning, but he was scheduled for a checkup soon enough, and Ratchet would check his sensor net then.

     This was the first time he had let Ironhide walk for an extended period since walking him home from the hospital.  He didn't bother to disguise his observation.  Ironhide didn't seem to care if he looked, unless he tried to do so surreptitiously.  It actually made his job easier, having a cooperative patient.  There had been signs, though, that as he gained strength and confidence, the compliance wouldn't last long, so he enjoyed it while he could.

     "Where we goin'?" Ironhide finally asked, after about fifteen breems of walking.

     "To finalize the datawork to ensure your freedom." Ratchet said.  Hey, no bot ever accused him of beating around the bush. "It shouldn't take much.  If you tried to work in the mines with your legs the state they're in, you'd be dead in a vorn." Or being nice. "They won't fight for you."

     Ironhide was quiet for a minute. "Tha's all it takes?"

     "What do you mean?"

     "Ya just need . . . need to be hurt, and they'll let you go?" He was frowning at the sidewalk, as if confused.

     Ratchet grimaced. "No, unfortunately, they're not so lenient, and unless someone's willing to pay for your freedom, they'll put you back in, even if it _will_ kill you.  And most slaves who reach the surface don't find anyone willing to do so.  I've done what I can for all that come my way, but . . . I only have so much." He'd given everything, actually.  He only had the house because Iaconian real estate was willing to comply to Praxian standards and pay off up front.  He'd had nothing left for a vorn after recovering one slave, who'd been sent to rehabilitation.  It took him several minutes of brooding before he realized Ironhide had said nothing.  He glanced at the red mech.

     Ironhide was watching him with one optic as he picked his path; his legs were obviously hurting again.  Still he studied the doctor beside him with a keen blue gaze, as if unsure what to make of him.  There was wariness in that optic.  Ratchet couldn't blame him, having seen the marks of lashes across his chest and back plating, even beneath his armor.  He'd endured nothing but abuse at the hands of free mecha.

     They entered in silence, and went to meet with the official in charge of sales.  Ratchet didn't bother to silence Ironhide or make him wait outside, and he shot a glare at the sales mech before he could protest. "Skip the greetings, let's get to business." He said gruffly. "This mech can't go back to the mines; he'll die.  I'll pay for his freedom.  I'm just here to sign the datawork."

     The mech gave him a distasteful glance. "Sir, please.  What possible service could a brute who cannot speak do for Iacon?  You'd be a fool."

     Ratchet suppressed his irritation, but before he could reply, Ironhide had bristled beside him. "This doctor," Ironhide said slowly, very clearly, "saved my spark.  I can speak.  Not the only one.  We know." He glared. "We know we are not different.  Yer the fool, thinking we don't.  I may not know much for jobs here, but I can learn.  We all can learn, if you would give us something worth learning."

     When the mech, blushing furiously blue in the faceplate with shock, turned back to Ratchet, he saw the doctor smirking. "The datawork?" Ratchet asked mildly. "And your name, so I can report you for rudeness to clients?" Normally he'd brush off rudeness, but this mech annoyed him.  He had it coming.

     "Cobblestone." The mech replied sullenly, pulling out a datapad and entering some information on it. "B-63?"

     "Formerly." Ratchet replied shortly.  He still hated that naming system.

     Cobblestone's lip plate curled, but he said nothing. "It's a problem slave.  You'll need to receive direct transfer of the control codes, and he cannot be freed."

     Ratchet bristled at that, as did Ironhide. "What do you mean, he cannot be freed?  There's no law about that!" Ratchet protested.

     "Slaves that have been written up as aggressive are designated as threats to society and cannot be trusted in the public without active override codes in the possession of another, legal, mech.  It says on your file here you are of . . . Praxian, background, is that right?"

     A pang of bitterness went to Ratchet's spark, and he didn't miss the way Cobblestone's optics flickered over his shoulder, searching for his absent door wings. "Yes, that's correct." He said tightly. "I don't see what this has to do with Ironhide's freedom."

     Cobblestone gave him a cold look. "What it comes down to is this.  He's aggressive, he's violent, he's a threat to the public - unless he has the codes.  So either you buy him, and download them, or he comes back to the mines, where the only ones he can hurt?  Are other, equally meaningless, lives.  Is that clear enough for you, Doctor, or shall I repeat it?  Are your audials as absent as your doorwings?"

     Ratchet surged to his feet and had to grip the desk to keep himself from launching at the sales mech. "How _dare_ you," He snarled, but from this angle he caught the winglets at the mech's shoulders and the back of his helm.  He gave a cold, furious smile, satisfied at the wariness that overcame the smug look. "I _lost_ my wings, half-breed.  I wouldn't expect you to know how that feels.  I wouldn't expect you to know how much of anything feels, actually.  You might want to go see a therapist, if you're so eager to send a spark as bright as his off to the mines to die, or sell him into a life of slavery.  How does it feel to be the master of so many lives, and to keep them suffocating, starving, and burning to death underground while you and others like you live off of your ill-won profits up here, hm?  And you don't even have the riches your superiors do to show for it!  Tell me, glitch, how does it feel to send an innocent spark to its death?  How do you sleep at night?"

     When he had finished, Cobblestone had shrunk back in his seat, optics wide and smug mask gone to reveal insecurity and very real fear. "I - I don't . . ."

     Ironhide finally spoke up again. "I didn' get all of that." He growled. "But I got enough.  I go back, or I stay with you.  You own me, here, or they kill me, there."

     Ratchet straightened from where he loomed over the desk and nodded curtly. "Evidently, since you've caused enough trouble."

     "I'd take you over them." Ironhide said flatly.

     "Me?" Ratchet said, startled. "You've only known me for a few days, Ironhide.  That's a bit soon to be selling your life and soul to a mech!"

     Ironhide smiled grimly. "I'm not ready to die yet." He said simply.  Ratchet suddenly realized this was the longest Ironhide had ever held his gaze.  This confidence, more even than the words of trust, convinced him.

     "Very well, _Cobblestone_.  Give me a pad with the codes.  I'll take them." When the sales mech didn't move, he barked, " _Now_!" As soon as the pad was held shakingly in his reach, he snatched it and angrily plugged his wrist transfer cable into it.  The codes were written simply, with no room for loopholes, and downloaded quickly.  He tossed the datapad carelessly back. "Oh, let me give you one more piece of life advice, Cobblestone." He added right before walking out, looking over his shoulder. "This carelessness for other lives?  That would be why your Seeker creator left you." The visible flinch told him his guess at the source of the winglets was right, and he marched out with Ironhide in tow, still seething.


	3. Illusions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet meets a noble femme, and Ironhide gets a lesson in class dynamics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enter: OC Illusion. I've seen other fics assure "OC-haters rejoice, they're only briefly there" and stuff like that. I can't say that. Illusion stays, she's pivotal to the story, sorry if you don't like OCs but trust me no canon character that I know fit the part.
> 
> Nobles' accents are all variations of British. I know there are a lot of region-specific accents, but I'm just an American, so, I have nothing but the media to go on, sorry. Imagine whichever one you like if you are familiar enough to do so.
> 
> Also in my defense I honestly know nothing about Pharma, I just borrowed his name and profession from a comic to make sure I got this out on time. Sorry if he's OOC. Blame it on the war changing him. Don't hurt me.

     "Ratchet." Pharma strode into his office, glancing briefly at Ironhide. "We've just gotten a high-priority call from the Crystal Gardens.  Apparently they have a guest there whose family is demanding the best treatment in the city, and I'm afraid they're convinced you're it.  I know you're not a fan of the nobility, but apparently the patient's from Velocitron, they have different class dynamics there." When Ratchet didn't reply, he gave a slightly frustrated outtake and said, "The bosses are paying a bonus and we can't afford to alienate the nobles anymore, they're the best paying clients."

     Ratchet put down his scanner a little harder than was necessary. "No, Pharma, I told you, I want nothing to do with the nobility.  They cause too much trouble as it is, it'll be all the better if they die off."

     Pharma winced. "Don't _say_ that in public, Ratchet, you'll get us all arrested."

     "Arrested?" Ironhide arched an optic ridge and looked from one doctor to the other.

     "The authorities - Enforcers - take us to confinement, where we stay until we go through a trial, where it's decided if we stay confined, are killed, or go free." Ratchet explained briefly.

     "Ratchet, please, I know you have a patient, but it's just a checkup, can we focus, please?" Pharma urged.

     Despite the subject matter Ratchet couldn't help but feel a flash of gratitude to his colleague.  At least he was treating Ironhide as just another patient, not a slave as most people still treated him.  He'd immediately told Ironhide once they left that he would _not_ be treating him as a slave, using him.  Ironhide's life was his own, as far as he was concerned.  The codes . . . he'd deal with them.  Figure out a way to remove them without it being public knowledge.  And he'd sworn not to use them.

     "Yes, let's focus, shall we?" He said in the present, turning away from Ironhide to fold his arms. "Listen very carefully, Pharma, because it's very important.  Everything you're talking about, everything the hospital claims to need, hangs on this, and I'm only going to say it once.  No."

     Ironhide interrupted, sounding faintly amused. "That's awready twice since I've been here, and you've obviously had this conversation before."

     "Shut up, 'Hide." Ratchet said irritably.

     Pharma wisely chose not to comment on the exchange. "Look, I know you don't want to do this, Ratchet, but you're the best doctor we've got - other than me - and that's what they're demanding."

     "That's just it, Pharma, they're _demanding_ , as if we have nothing else to do, no other patients who depend on us." Ratchet replied in frustration. "They know nothing of what it's like to make your own living.  They think the world revolves around them and we're nothing more than the scrap metal on their pedes!" He threw up his hands.

     "There are exceptions!" Pharma argued.

     "Of course there are, there's exceptions to every rule, but unfortunately, the natives of the Crystal Gardens and Velocitron are not among them!" Ratchet snapped.

     Pharma gave another hard outtake and gave him a level look. "I tried to ask you, Ratchet, but I'm going to come clean now.  The higher-ups didn't ask either.  You want to keep your job?  You don't have a choice.  If I could go in your place, believe me, I would, and I told them it'd be a better idea to send a doctor who didn't have your prejudices, but I have a surgery to prep for, and they said no.  It's you, or no one, and you lose your job."

     Ratchet stared at him and then sat down, slowly, running a hand over his faceplate. "Fine.  Get out of here before I forget I shouldn't misplace my anger."

     "I'm sorry." Pharma offered, but walked out without trying to continue.

     Ironhide looked at him keenly. "Work or die, basically." He clarified.  When Ratchet slowly nodded, he grunted disgustedly. "Maybe the surface isn't so different after all."

     Ratchet looked up at him and squinted for a moment before giving a deep outtake and a bitter chuckle. "You know, Ironhide, you might be right.  At least up here, we have choices on where to work, and we get paid for it.  But the pay's not always good and the choices can get pretty narrow." He shook himself and stood up. "On the bright side, you're healing nicely.  That knee still hurt you?"

     Ironhide shrugged. "Less."

     Ratchet gave another slightly irritable outtake. "I was hoping it would ease up entirely with time, but I suppose that was a bit too much to hope for.  It'll probably bother you somewhat your whole lifestream now.  The best I could do is give you painkillers, but that could interfere with noticing genuine injuries and reduce the effectiveness of your immunity programs.  I don't like prescribing them."

     "Ah'll be fine." Ironhide stood up, flexing his joints to ease the stiffness. "What'd he mean, 'nobility'?"

     Ratchet grumbled, but replied anyway. "There's social classes beyond 'slaves' and 'everyone else', Ironhide.  Slaves are at the bottom rung of the social ladder.  The next step up is the creditless and homeless, bots with nowhere to go, no jobs, reduced to begging to survive, but at least not forced to work in such conditions as you were.  Though sometimes more well-off bots might sell them into slavery.  The next rung up are the poor, but those that do have homes, and at least the potential for a job, but just enough credits to scrape by.  Then the 'middle class', which I belong to, those with jobs and homes that don't have to scrimp and save just to survive, and have enough to live comfortably.  Then there's a much bigger jump to the nobility, a class far above the rest of us, with far more credits than anyone could ever need, who can throw my entire weekly income away in about a joor and barely notice, live in veritable _palaces_ , don't need a job, and almost everyone in politics is from this class, so they also get the best education and to rule everyone else."

     Ironhide processed this for a minute, matching unfamiliar words in with words he knew and concepts he understood.  After a minute, he said slowly, "And you think pretty much all nobles are privileged, arrogant, and generally bad?"

     "All the ones I've met have been; same with everyone else I know.  Just by the laws of probability there must be exceptions, but no one I know has met them."

     "How much contact do they have with the other classes?"

     "Not much.  Basically only when necessary, such as medical emergencies like this one." Ratchet set his file down and looked at him closely. "Where are you going with this, Ironhide?"

     Ironhide arched an optic ridge at him. "Just . . . that's what most bots say about slaves, right?  They must be dirty, uneducated, worthless.  No one I know has met one that isn't."

     Ratchet stared at him for a moment, then blinked.  He opened and closed his mouth before giving a surprised chuckle. "Well, well.  You've got a point, Ironhide.  All right, I'll give them another chance.  You remember the way home by now, no reason I need to come with you.  I think it'd be best if you didn't come on the call, though.  The rules of nobility include that no slave may ever touch one of them, even by accident, so if they try to push in and you're in the wrong place, you'll be the one punished."

     Ironhide snorted. "Nothin' much new about that, but okay.  See you at home."

     The two mechs walked out together, but went their separate ways at the outer doors, with Ratchet driving uptown, and Ironhide headed back to the house.

 

* * *

 

 

     Ratchet was already irritated again by the time he reached the room where his patient was waiting.  The guards had been rude and demanded identification and verification, _twice_ (never mind that they weren't the same guards, this level of security was ridiculous, did they think he was a murderer?), and the nobles he'd passed all turned up their nasal ridges and refused to have anything to do with him.  Even the mech who'd met with him had looked him up and down with disgust and said only "You're the doctor?" and "This way".

     To his surprise, he found no one who looked like a patient in the room.  As soon as the doors opened, a blast of sound assaulted their audials.  A blue and white femme was shouting at her companions, all variations of blue, white, and gold. "I don't need a fragging doctor!  It's just sour energon for Primus' sake!  Don't you dare touch me, Glam, I swear I will cut you!  Father, how dare you!"

     "Illusion, silence!  The doctor is here and you will see him now!" The oldest mech, the one she'd addressed as Father, interrupted forcefully.

     Illusion's furious gaze turned to the door.  Ratchet couldn't help but notice her optics were unusual - perhaps unhealthy?  They were silver, an unnaturally rare color on Cybertron. "Sour energon, eh?" He said dryly, feigning an Iaconian accent, just to annoy them.

     "Yes." She said tightly. "I'm sorry to drag you away from your work, you could be doing so much more important things right now." She shot a brief glare at her father.

     "Well, since I'm here, might as well check you over.  I didn't lug all my tools and get past three sets of guards to just go home." Ratchet said, approaching her. "Sit down, if you don't mind."

     "You forget your place," A blue mech growled. " _You_ do not ask _us_ to sit down, in our own property."

     "Silence, Glam." An older, blue femme snapped irritably. "He is a _doctor_ , and he may ask his _patient_ to sit, stand, lay down, whatever will do his job properly, and you will not raise a servo or your voice to stop him, is that clear?"

     He fell silent, obviously stewing.  Ratchet found himself smirking, and couldn't help but notice Illusion looking very smug as she obeyed him. "Thank you," He said, unnecessarily, just to rub it in that he was being polite. "Now just sit still, I'll run a few scans, and if the energon was just a little sour I can give you an additive and you'll be fine." He pulled out a scanner and fitted his actions to his words.  His optic ridges furrowed. "This doesn't show the effects of sour energon.  It's more like energon that you're not processing properly . . . a formula that doesn't work for your frame type." He looked up at her. "Native Cybertronian brew?"

     She nodded.

     Ratchet gave an irritable outtake. "There's your problem.  Your frame type is Velocitronian.  You process energon more efficiently and faster than the average Cybertronian - than almost any, in fact.  Which means our native brews are too thin, and your system is overprocessing, pulling effects from it that it isn't designed to have.  Overprocessed energon is highly unstable; any amount of heat could ignite it in the air.  Since it's in your systems, it's just causing a few issues that should be rectified shortly if you just switch to Cybertronian high grade."

     "She can't be consuming high grade!" A mech exclaimed.

     "He's right, that's preposterous," Another agreed.

     "Doctor, if this is true, why is she the only one affected?" Her father asked him flatly. "You can't be right, we're all consuming the same energon, and we're all Velocitronian!"

     Ratchet rolled his optics. "Because, sir," He made it an insult, "She is clearly the youngest bot here, correct?  Most likely you've all been consuming enough high grade that it's not truly affecting you.  Have any of you visited Cybertron for an extended period before?" Most shook their helms; only two who he guessed were Illusion's creators - the dark blue mech and a lighter blue femme - nodded. "If you've conditioned your frame to it over time, it's entirely likely you'll have a higher tolerance.  But going directly from Velocitronian grade to Cybertronian, or vice versa, takes a gradual change, which clearly she wasn't given."

     "Are you implying we've neglected our daughter?" The father said, affronted.

     "No, only that you were uneducated on the subject.  I'm sure it's a common mistake." Ratchet shamelessly rubbed it in.

     "So if I switch to high grade, I'll be fine?" Illusion interrupted. "And really, Father, I can handle this, if you please?" She turned back to Ratchet attentively.

     He found himself knocked a bit off his game by the way she was treating him.  As an equal?  She must be frightened.  She didn't look it.  He mentally shook himself and returned to the topic at hand. "I would actually say you _should_ be, unfortunately.  It's best to do the transition before this happens.  I'll leave you some additives to take with it that should help flush the overprocessed energon from your system, and you'll need another doctor to come in in two or three cycles to check in and make sure everything's cycling through as it's meant to."

     "Thank you." She said sincerely. "May I request you back again?  To be honest, you're the first Iaconian I've felt all that comfortable with."

     Ratchet was taken aback.  He'd been nothing but snide or professional since he got here! "You can request it, I suppose.  It's up to the board." He avoided her gaze as he pulled out the additives and verified which ones she'd need. "Scrap.  There's not enough here to last that long.  I'll have some sent over by tomorrow morning."

     "What's the worst that could happen because of this, doctor . . . ?" She left it hanging.

     He looked at her sidelong, optic ridges furrowing. "Energon poisoning is the absolute worst.  If it remains overprocessed in your system too long it could begin to morph and poison you.  But if you take these additives and make the switch, there's virtually no chance of that happening.  The switch might be enough, but better safe than sorry."

     "Thank you.  And, what was your name?" She asked directly this time, looking him directly in the optic as he handed her the additives.

     Ratchet was the first to blink, still surprised by this treatment. "Ratchet." He said shortly, sensing the derisiveness in several of the others' energy fields.  He projected exasperation and annoyance into his own, toward them, carefully hiding his confusion. "Well.  Someone will be back in a few cycles." He left without addressing any of them 'properly' as 'my lady' or 'my lord'.  He didn't even speak to the guards, rather shouldering past them on his way out.  His shift had ended while he was inside.  Pharma had covered his last appointments.  So instead of returning to the hospital, he chose to go straight home.


	4. I Admit Nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet returns and discusses the nobles with Ironhide, and comes to a realization.

     "So?" Ironhide asked teasingly as Ratchet entered the kitchen.  The red mech sat back and smirked at him with a cube in hand, a datapad on the table in front of him. "Was I right?"

     Ratchet glowered at him. "I admit nothing.  The one noble that was polite was my patient, probably scared out of her mind.  It was just a case of metabolic inconsistency, nothing major." He waved a hand dismissively. "Nothing they needed me for, or that warranted me being taken off my normal shift.  The end of the day would've been fine." He snorted derisively.

     Ironhide looked at him for a moment and then snorted too. "Stubborn mech." He commented, taking a sip from his cube.

     "Look who's talking." Ratchet fired back.

     "I'm stubborn to survive, you're just a mean ol' coot." Ironhide elbowed him, grinning.

     "Oh, I'll show you mean and old!" Ratchet whacked him over the helm - not too hard, but he'd be feeling it for a while.  The red mech just snickered and went back to his energon, and Ratchet realized he was grinning.  It had been a long time since he'd had a friend close enough to laugh and play with this way.  Most bots tended to avoid lasting relationships of any kind (outside his colleagues) with him.  He supposed it was because most were uncomfortable with bots who were obviously missing limbs, and his Praxian heritage was painfully obvious even without his door wings.  Ironhide, though, wouldn't have even noticed, given where he'd spent most of his life so far.

     He glanced again at Ironhide as the red mech continued reading.  Somehow, even if he explained - and he planned to, eventually, it just hadn't been important yet - he didn't think Ironhide would care.  He was a tough one, but he knew better than anybot how wrong judgments and stereotypes could be.

     Ratchet had spent most of his life alone, at least since adulthood.  At first it had been simple independence, like any young bot just leaving their creators.  He'd had his social circle and all the company he wanted, with a place to be alone if he wanted.  He'd been happy, back in Praxus, when he was young.

     But then he'd had his accident.  He'd lost his wings and two of his best friends in the world.  Spent weeks in the hospital.  When he went home, it wasn't the same anymore.  Suddenly, Praxus wasn't happy.  Everything reminded him of what he'd lost.  So he'd packed his bags.  Cut ties.  Moved to Iacon for a new start.  Praxian hospitals were of higher quality than Iacon's, so it hadn't been difficult for him to find a job.  But he'd been alone ever since.

     Since Ironhide had been there, he realized, his life was brighter.  Happier.  He hadn't noticed he was lonely until he had a friend around to fill the void.  Dark as Ironhide's past may be, darker than his own in more ways than one, the companionship was a bright spot for both of them.

     "Ironhide?"

     Ironhide finished his sentence and looked up.

     Ratchet tilted his head speculatively. "Would you like to stay?  You've fairly well recuperated at this point, and you're functional in society, if not fluent.  It's more like you're from another city than a former slave.  You could easily get some kind of job with physical labor at this point and find your own place.  Would you rather stay here?"

     "Do you want me to go?" Ironhide asked seriously, setting everything aside to pay attention.

     The white mech gave a deep outtake. "I'm not entirely sure.  Quite honestly, you're about the only friend I've got.  I'd hate to lose that if you moved too far away.  But there's no reason for you to stay here if you don't want to."

     Ironhide was silent for a breem, processor working over the question.  After a while he replied, "I'd rather stay here than go somewhere I'll still be treated like scrap metal.  Sure, I'll find a job, ain't fair that yer the only one workin'.  But it'd be nice to know I'm comin' back to a place wi' no judgment."

     Ratchet nodded. "So it's decided.  You'll stay here, at least for now."

     "Good deal." Ironhide returned to his cube as if they hadn't just made a life-altering decision.  Ratchet chuckled and did the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd just like to make it a point once again that Ironhide/Ratchet is NOT my ship or endgame here. I don't necessarily have anything against it (*except**ahem*CHROMIA) but if you're looking for that in this story, I'm sorry, you won't find it. They're just bros. Living together, but just bros. Believe it or not, that's possible even in fanfiction.


	5. Ironhide's First Job . . . Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ironhide punches someone and gets a job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit to Misukitt for the idea of Ironhide punching someone and becoming friends XD You've been a great reader/helper!
> 
> (I ended up changing my mind on Kup's backstory from my plan a bit, but you'll only notice if you read the previous chapter's comments with me and Misukitt)

     Ratchet had pointed out an ad in the daily news for Ironhide to check out.  He'd said it was a job in construction - building things.  As a miner, his job had been to break things apart and haul them, but hey, the power in his frame would be ideal and they didn't ask for experience.  He had his own reservations, but on some level, he trusted Ratchet.  Not that he'd ever admit it out loud.

     Getting there proved to be more of a problem.  Thankfully, most Iaconians seemed to take a mech with a mappad standing on the curb as someone who was lost and needed help.  While many backed off awkwardly after hearing his accent, others barely seemed to notice, as they just directed him on his way.  Several bots even argued on which way was better to get to his destination.  After spotting a half-constructed building in the distance, Ironhide stopped listening and just made his way there in the straightest route possible while sticking to the roads.

     Once he arrived, he hesitated on the outer edges of the job site, scanning for someone who seemed to be in charge.  The supervisors had always been clear in the . . . no, he had to stop comparing everything to that.  They were obviously short on hands; that would be why they were so desperate for workers they'd accept someone with no experience on such a big job.  Because the framework already towered above him, and he eyed it warily.  He didn't particularly like heights . . . though he noticed, looking at the workers, those scaling back down from the heights all seemed to have slimmer frames and winglets.  Probably Seeker hybrids, Ratchet had said.  They liked heights.  The heavier built bots were closer to the ground or on more secure walkways.  They all seemed to be heading the same way, toward a bench and a portable dispenser on the sidelines.

     "Whatcha lookin' at, punk?"

     The voice surprised him and Ironhide whirled and punched the speaker without thinking, bracing for the shock unconsciously and grimacing when he remembered he wouldn't get it anymore.  And that the mech he'd punched was not a supervisor. "Uh . . ." He looked uncertainly down at the solidly built, faded, green frame sprawled on the ground before him. "Ya surprised me." He said gruffly.

     The mech was rubbing his dark gray jaw with speculative blue optics scanning him.  A grin spread across his faceplates and he began to laugh, hard and heavy.  He couldn't have gotten up if he'd tried. "Whoo, Primus!" He exclaimed when he stood up a minute later, optics sparkling, still grinning widely. "That was one Pit of a punch!  Can you take as well as you put out?"

     Ironhide's optic ridges furrowed at the figure of speech, but he didn't have time to reply before the other mech sent a punch flying at him.  He stumbled back but managed to catch himself on a nearby barrel, surging back up to fight back.  He didn't have much refinement to it, but he was big, heavy, and packed a powerful punch.  The other mech seemed weaker as he punched back, but he was a bit faster, and marginally smaller.  He was a lot more skilled at it, too.  Ironhide's heavy punches were deflected almost effortlessly and he feinted in ways that Ironhide had never had to.

     He was getting seriously irritating.  Ironhide gave a full roar and refrained from punching next time, instead grabbing the other mech's arm and jerking him close enough to throw him to the ground.  He held on to that one hand and kept on punching with the other.  The green mech's free hand dug into his side, as if searching for something.  About when his helm cracked - Ironhide was trying not to damage his faceplate, just his armor - he found it, digging past Ironhide's tough armor at the seam between his arm and torso and jabbing harshly at some wires.

     Ironhide yelped and jerked away.  By now the rest of the crew had noticed and were making their way over.  Weirdly, they didn't make a move to get in the way.  Ironhide didn't have time to contemplate that either though, because the green mech was coming after him again.  The two went rolling, landing random punches and kicks all the way, all finesse gone.  The red mech finally got the break he needed with the stranger on top of him, landing a solid kick to his chestplate with both pedes that sent him flying into the foundation of the building.

     At that point the rest of the crew made a move.  Several burly mechs restrained Ironhide, while several of the rest of the crew went to block the other mech. "Leave him alone, boss," Ironhide overheard. "What'd he do?" Another asked.  Someone cuffed him over the helm and asked again, "What'd you do?"

     The green mech waved them all away as he stood up, adjusting his cracked helmet with a crooked grin. "Let 'im go boys, come on, I walked into that one.  Not his fault, not his fault." He zeroed in on Ironhide, who still looked at them all warily. "Well, stranger, you sure pack a punch.  One Pit of a scrapper for a mech with no training.  Not a lot of bots can get the upper hand on me, an' most of 'em are femmes." He grinned. "No hard feelings.  Name's Kup."

     Ironhide blinked and glanced at the proffered hand and back up at Kup's face before taking it slowly, gripping hard and bracing if the mech tried anything.  He didn't. "Ironhide." He introduced himself gruffly. "Sorry about that.  Ya just took me by surprise, is all."

     Kup waved him off. "Ah, like I said, no hard feelings.  I get it, I'd probably do the same.  On the other hand, though, this is a construction site.  No place for a bot who's not on the crew.  Unless you came lookin' for a job?"

     "Yeah, I did." Ironhide rubbed the back of his neck. "Prob'ly not gonna get it after punchin' out the supervisor, eh?"

     Kup grinned. "Manager, but relax, mech." He slapped Ironhide on the back in what Ratchet had identified as a friendly gesture. "You got the job.  I'll do up the datawork later.  Just shadow the crew for the rest of the day to learn the ropes."

     Ironhide grinned too. "If I'd known gettin' a job out of slavery would be that easy I'd have landed a collapse years ago." He said, carefully gauging their reactions.

     There was a pause as Kup's grin faded and he looked at him. "Slavery?" He said after a minute.  There was another tense moment before he asked, "Well, Pit, mech, where'd you learn to fight like that stuck in the mines?"

     "Bickerin' with the supervisors." Ironhide gave a mean little smirk, though he knew none of them would realize how dangerous that was.

     Kup howled with laughter. "Y'know, young mech, I did the same thing!  See, back in the day, I was a slave too.  I was freed at the beginning of the last Revolution of Cybertron, when the warlord - oh what was his name, Thunderwing or somethin' - was recruitin' soldiers.  An' I was swayed, don't ya know, he was a charismatic son of a glitch, that's for slaggin' sure.  But I saw the light when I met the Knights of Cybertron.  Those were the glory days . . ."

     Ironhide was too shocked by the turn of the conversation to stop the old mech as he began to ramble.  The rest of the crew just gave good-natured groans and grins and went back to their lunch.  He obediently followed Kup and listened to his story - or rather, stories, as everything reminded him of something else, and he'd go off on endless tangents before circling back to something from earlier.  Ironhide just sat and listened, smiling a little, pleased at this turn of events.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet checks in with Illusion, and starts to realize Ironhide may have been right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long to get up, guys! I have a lot of trouble writing romances between characters who haven't been friends for ages already, and I have no personal reference point, so it was hard to write and life decided to throw a bunch of time constraints in for a while.
> 
> Sparking: birth (such as it is with these beings)  
> Newspark: newborn  
> Sparkling: baby/toddler/young child  
> (I know sparking and sparkling can be hard to see the difference, but it was the best I could come up with)

     Ratchet knew as soon as he arrived at the hospital it was going to be a long solar cycle.  There was no influx of injuries or sparkings; as a matter of fact, there were fewer than usual.  That was part of the problem.  Whenever they had a slow day, instead of allowing them to recharge for the long shifts ahead, the bosses expected immense amounts of datawork and cleaning done that was not, technically speaking, the doctors' or nurses' jobs.

     There was a part of his processor that nagged he was being selfish.  Fewer bots were hurting and he was annoyed about it?  He shoved the thought away.  He worked at a free clinic as well as here.  He did his part to make their gilded world a better place.  He was allowed to be a little selfish after everything he'd been through for everyone else.

     Pharma showed up in his office not a joor into his shift, however.  When Ratchet noticed him he gave a deep outtake and pinched his helm just below the base of his chevron. "What now, Pharma."

     His fellow doctor snorted. "Thank me, Ratchet.  I'm about to get you out of a long, boring day of datawork."

     Ratchet sat back and turned his full attention on his companion, intrigued. "Go on."

     "That noble you treated a few cycles ago?  She's due for a checkup, and since you saw her symptoms firsthand, we all know it would be best for you to check on her.  Beyond that, the guards and the other nobles already know you, so it'll be easier for you to get in and out.  Now I know you don't like them, but you don't like datawork either, and you were requested.  Not demanded this time, thankfully."

     Ratchet glared at him. "The lesser of two evils." He threw up his hands. "Alright, I'll take the nobles over the datawork.  Them I can insult.  The data doesn't have so many entertaining expressions."

     Pharma winced. "Just don't alienate them entirely, will you?"

     "Pharma, they're Velocitronians, we won't have them as patients long anyway." Ratchet replied as he gathered his bag.  Patting his colleague on the shoulder on the way past, he added, "But here, I'll try to behave.  Mostly." He smirked before walking away. "Call me if there's an emergency."

     "We're all perfectly capable of managing emergencies without you, Ratchet." Pharma replied. "We have the same training."

     "No we don't!" At this point Ratchet was too far away to make continuing all that reasonable, but Pharma would probably remember soon enough.  Ratchet had been trained in his home city of _Praxus_ , not here in Iacon like his colleagues.  He'd acknowledged that he might be biased, but he still maintained that Praxian medical training was far superior to Iaconian.

     He _was_ the best doctor in the slagging hospital, after all.

 

* * *

 

 

     To his relief - and mild surprise - the guards didn't demand extra identification this time.  He couldn't tell if they were the same ones as last time or had just been told; they wore the same armor and were the same frame type, and their faceplates were hidden.  It didn't particularly matter; they were doing their job, he was doing his.

     The nobles, on the other hand, had much the same reaction as before.  Most turned their helms up and ignored him, or switched to hushed conversations rather than acknowledge him.  Some talked louder; he paid no notice to what they said.  No one had guided him this time, so he simply headed to the same room he'd met her in last time.  It had seemed some sort of reception room.

     Sure enough, she was waiting and cast him an uneasy smile. "I apologize for calling you away from your work again, Doctor Ratchet."

     He almost responded but then stopped abruptly to blink and stare at her.  She'd remembered his name and used it.  A _noble_ had deemed his name - essentially a servant's - important enough to remember.  Or did Velocitronians hold doctors in higher status than Iaconians and even Praxian nobility (who were admittedly more Iaconians than true Praxians)?  After all, that one elderly femme from before had scolded the young mech for disrespecting him.

     The pause lasted only a moment before he shook himself out of it. "Don't worry." He dismissed. "It's mostly tedious datawork today, anyway, and Pharma tells me they can handle things without me." Why was he explaining himself?

     "Well, I'm glad to save you from the datawork then." Illusion smiled warmly.

     Ratchet cleared his intakes. "So, how have you been feeling?"

     "Overall better.  The cramps have almost gone away, the aches in my joints are gone, the overheating has reduced.  I'm even better in control of my cycling because of this." She sounded so pleased, but that last sentence gave Ratchet pause.

     "What about your cycling?  It shouldn't have affected that." He said in concern.

     "Oh!  It didn't, directly, I just have this cycling condition called atmospheric impairment.  When under stress and overuse, my cycling system can overload itself and stop working properly if I don't actively regulate it.  The pain in my other systems that was influenced by how I cycle ended up making me think about it more in depth and helped me get a little more regulated." She spoke knowledgeably; Ratchet would wager credits that she'd been diagnosed and was reciting.

     He checked anyway. "Have you had this checked out by a professional?"

     She nodded. "It's uncommon, but on Velocitron it's not unheard-of.  We do lead a much more strenuous life there, as far as things that will make one's cycling system truly work, so oftentimes a bot with a minor version of the condition wouldn't even aggravate it if they didn't live on the legendary Racing Planet."

     "Oh, I know how it works." Ratchet said, slightly irritably.

     "Or rather, how it doesn't work," Illusion quipped.

     He had to suppress a laugh that was partially of surprise.  A smile tugged at his mouthplates. "True." He said grudgingly.  Not knowing what made him say it, he added, "You're by far the friendliest noble I've yet met.  The rest have treated me like metal shavings."

     "I'm not surprised.  Most of them are like that.  Even Shimmer only scolded Glam for it, when you were here before, to spite him.  I think it's wrong; I always have.  Well, I suppose not always.  Once I was too young to see it for what it was."

     Ratchet looked at her intently. "And what prompted this realization, if you don't mind my asking?"

     "Not at all.  I once had a friend, when I was very young.  I met him in the crystal gardens at home; they aren't as opulent as the ones here, but they're pretty enough for us.  We were both too young to think of classes, and sparklings don't care." She gave a crooked smile. "We became great friends and I would meet him there almost daily to play.  Until one day my creators came with me to meet this friend, and discovered he bore the mark of a slave.  They're not common anywhere, but occasionally there's a noble family that keeps a family of slaves as a sort of twisted tradition.  Mine isn't one of them; he was owned by our neighbors in the palatial complex.  But they had him whipped within an inch of his life for touching me, even as sparklings in play who didn't understand." A deep frown had come to her faceplates. "He never so much as looked at me, much less spoke or played, after that day.  And it didn't make sense to me." She gave a helpless little shrug.

     Silence reigned for a breem.  Ratchet straightened up and just stared at her, optic ridges furrowed, considering. "You're different." He observed, tilting his helm.  Then he shook himself.  Abruptly changing the subject, he said, "Well, you seem to be almost back to normal.  If you received the correct number of supplements and didn't acquire any extras, you should be able to just finish them and by that time be fully adjusted to the Cybertronian high grade.  That'll be all."

     "Actually, Doctor, if you wouldn't mind, do you service as a general practitioner?  A more focused, personal doctor, that is?" She asked, rising as he did.

     He snapped his case shut a little harder than necessary; for some reason he felt the need to just flee this place, this strange noble femme. "Yes." He said shortly. "Not often, but yes."

     "Well then, would you do that for me?  My family's moved here for the time being, so my doctor on Velocitron is no longer an option.  I need a new one here, a consistent medical view to monitor my condition.  I've had a good experience with you and you come highly recommended.  Are you opposed to the notion?" She asked.

     Ratchet almost snapped yes, opposed was a mild word.  But pay had just been cut again at the hospital.  Some of the ER doctors were struggling to make ends meet.  But his personal patients afforded him bonuses, and with the way he did his contracts, the bonuses were based on their income and finances.  Illusion would make a high-paying customer and he wasn't just living alone anymore - who knew if and when Ironhide would manage to get a job?  So through clenched dentae, he said, "No, I'm not opposed."

     Illusion smiled at him, though it was impossible for her not to have seen his reluctance. "Well thank you.  Shall I send a request through the hospital?"

     "Yes.  They'll handle it." He pushed out the door before she could continue the conversation again.  He had to get out of here.  Find a quiet place to think - she'd certainly given him a lot to think about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, so sorry for the delay! If you see any errors feel free to point them out, and constructive criticism on my introduction of this crush is appreciated. Actually, please do tell me how you would classify this chapter in terms of the opening relationship; unrequited, requited, which side, etc., I want to know if I portrayed it as I wanted it.
> 
> Credit to a friend of mine for the subplot this opens.


	7. Introspection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> . . . from a perspective you weren't expecting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cue more worldbuilding, and the very seeds of the romance being planted. Whew, considering the romance is the main point, you'd think I'd get to it faster! This could take awhile. Hope no one blames me for a time lapse later because I promise you I will run out of filler scenes to make it work with the right time frame.

     After the doctor had gone, Illusion found herself contemplating him for longer than a noble "rightfully" should.

     Frag the rules.

     A little smirk came to her mouth as it crossed her mind, and she settled in to consider what she'd seen.  The mech had been surprised when she remembered his name - understandably.  But he'd acted somewhat strange as their conversation continued.  His examination had been performed with a distinct professionalism; in fact, she wasn't even sure he'd looked at anything but his tricorder and her face.  Respectful.  She liked that.  He obviously had an ingrained dislike of nobility; his gruffness, discomfort, and sharp replies last time had proved that.

     Still, he seemed like a mech who could change.  When he'd heard her story about Centrality, even sans the young slave's name, there had been a visible reaction.  Sympathy, perhaps, though clearly for Centrality.  That was where hers lay as well.  As much as she missed him, he'd gone through much worse than she for their friendship.  He might blame her; she didn't know, probably would never.  Ratchet, though, had been uncomfortable, almost snapping at her on the way out.  His distaste for nobility had been clear again, he'd almost refused.  What had made him change his mind?

      Before she could contemplate further, the door pinged and slid open.  A tall blue frame entered with a supercilious smile and a bow. "My dear lady." He said politely.

      Illusion didn't bother to get up or reply formally, instead levelling him with a withering glare. "What do you want, Glam?"

     "Only to give you a token of my regard." Glam extended a box to her. "I see your tongue is no less sharp for your illness.  I'm pleased to see you recovering so nicely, even with the . . . discomforting solution you were given."

     "It's only discomforting if you allow it to be, Glam." She practically sighed the words as she reluctantly took the gift. "After all, we're Velocitronian, essentially the high grade here is the same as our standard." She opened the box as she spoke and then stopped without continuing to correct him.  Inside was a beautiful crystal, one of the ones from the gardens, which had grown with blue and white tines intertwining.  She couldn't deny it was a well-done piece, though not the most intricate she'd ever seen.

      But the colors.  Blue and white.  Those alone, intertwined.  White - her color - and blue - the same shade as . . .

      She raised her optics to Glam's and saw him start at the intensity of her glare.  She stood with a cool smile, the crystal in her hand, and surveyed the room.  A waste bin was within an easy distance.  She threw the crystal to shatter inside it and then folded her arms, turning to look at Glam's shocked expression. "I said _no_ , Glam." She said coldly. "Did you think I wouldn't recognize the First Step?"

     Fury sparked in his optics, though he didn't dare raise a hand to her. "You shouldn't dismiss me so easily, Illusion.  It's hardly like you'll find another suitor." He snapped back.

     "I'll take my chances." Illusion growled, leaning forward and clenching her fists. "Considering you only want me for my status."

     He sneered. "As if you'll ever find someone who doesn't?  Face it, sweetspark.  We're Velocitronian, and you _can't race_.  You'll never find a mech or femme who's willing to settle for you."

     _Can't race.  Can't race._ The words echoed in her mind, but her face contorted in anger. "I hate to shatter your worldview, but there's more to life than just racing.  And I will never, _ever_ , bow, much less bond, to the likes of you."

     "Then get used to being alone." Glam hissed.

     Illusion sneered back, lifting her chin defiantly. "I have only three words for you, Glam.  It's very important and I will only say it once, so please, pay close attention." She leaned closer until their helms were just inches apart. "Go frag yourself." She slapped him. "Guards!  Get this piece of filth out of my parlor." He had gone reeling from the unexpected strength of her slap and her door guards grabbed him before he could react.  She swore they were suppressing the urge to snicker as they dragged him out.

     She smiled a little to herself after they closed the door.  She didn't know the guards here well yet - they kept getting changed about - but she'd always been on good terms with the ones at home.  They used to fight over who got to accompany her places because her out-of-bounds behavior amused them.  She had a feeling she'd get on well with the Cybertronian guards too.

     _Can't race . . . hardly like you'll find another . . . settle for you . . . alone_. She shook her head furiously as she considered what he'd said. _I think you're the friendliest noble I've yet met . . . you're different_. Suddenly Illusion snorted.  She'd known her new doctor for only two days total and - along with being a bulky piece of optic candy in her opinion - he already portrayed himself as twice the mech Glam was.

     Only problem?

     Her sire approved of the miscreant she'd just kicked out.

     He'd never accept the doctor.

     Wait an astrosecond.  Accept the doctor?  Ratchet was handsome, sure, and kind to be certain, but where had that thought come from?  She'd only known him for two days!  For all she knew he'd only shown a polite mask - though if that was his idea of polite he left much to be desired.  Still, perhaps . . . it was worth getting to know him, if for no other reason than to spite Glam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so referenced in this chapter is the concept of Conjunx Endura, and let me explain real quick what this all is.  
> Conjunx Endura: Formal marriage. Done as described on the TF Wiki (it's a pretty short article. Pretty much four gifts or acts of devotion, consummated by a priest, including but not limited to the Prime)  
> Sparkmate: Soul mate, in a way. Treated like a marriage of love. Consummated with a merging of the sparks, which there's no going back from (short of death or some extreme act of hate) and allows silent communication and reflection of one another's feelings, etc.  
> Berthmate/Mate: Physical lover, same as with humans. It's far more common and accepted on Cybertron.


	8. "Why me?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ironhide reports back to Ratchet for the very first time in their long lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, two chapters in one day! Hope this makes up for the long wait for the last one XD
> 
> Also when Ironhide says "Act'ally", it's pronounced "ACK-shully", pretty much the way we say it in the American Midwest (and South).

     Ironhide left the construction crew with cheerful waves, a few laughs, in good spirits; Kup had somehow written him up as an employee and given him a complete file in between his stories and barking orders.  The old green mech had promised it wasn't final until he signed it himself, giving him time to go over it more thoroughly to see what he'd be getting into.  Ratchet would be a help there.

     Oh fraggit.

     Ratchet.

     He'd have to tell Ratchet how he'd gotten the job in the first place.

     Slag.

     He entered the house nervously.  Ratchet would already be home at this joor, most likely drawing his evening cube; a look into the kitchen confirmed this.  The white mech was pouring what looked like an iron supplement into the cube as well.  He glanced up when he heard Ironhide in the door. "Hungry?" He asked gruffly.

     "Yeah." Ironhide had gotten used to being talked over while at the site, so Ratchet's immediate silence was almost jarring.

     He watched as Ratchet drew another cube and added the supplement.  He put the iron away in the supplement storage unit and walked around the table, passing one cube off to Ironhide before sitting down.  His bright orange optic ridges were furrowed as if deep in thought.  Ironhide sat down across from him, not touching his energon.  After a breem he steeled himself and cleared his intakes, knowing that tended to get Ratchet's attention.

     Sure enough, Ratchet looked up, almost in surprise, and shook himself, turning his full attention to Ironhide. "So?  First day looking, I don't really expect you to get the job, but did you manage to find it well enough?"

     "Act'ally," Ironhide said, finding himself rubbing the back of his neck cables in embarrassment. "Ah found it, awright.  Got some directions from folks along the way, but at leas' I understood those, right?  Anyways, I act'ally did get the job."

     Ratchet's optic ridges shot up and he sat about halfway back in his chair. "Did you now?  I'm impressed.  How did you manage that?"

     Ironhide cleared his intakes again, this time actually feeling as if something was in them, though nothing showed on his internal scans. "Uh . . . well, it's kinda a weird story, that.  The manager's a strange mech by the name of Kup.  Old scrapper.  When was the last Revolution of Cybertron?  He says he was our age during that.  Has a lotta stories, y'know . . ."

     "Ironhide, I didn't ask about the supervisor." Ratchet said sternly. "And you wouldn't dodge the question unless you thought I wouldn't like the answer, so tell me, what happened?"

     "Well, Kup is, well he's off, ya know?  And he kinda startled me.  I jus' got there durin' their midday break an' I was jus' observin', lookin' for the supervisor, ya know, an' he kinda startled me so I kinda punched him an' then he laughed and punched me an' we ended up kinda fightin' but it was all okay, he ended up writin' up a contract for me to look over tonight, ready for a signature."

     Ratchet stared at him. "What did you just say?  You did what?"

     Ironhide hunched. "Uh, punched him.  On account of he startled me.  But he was okay with it, said he'd probably do the same."

     "You can't just punch bots, Ironhide!" Ratchet groaned. "Even if they startle you!  For Primus' sake, this is why bureaucrats think you're dangerous, you know that?  Enforcers _intentionally_ startle bots just to see who has a guilty conscience and they can arrest you for complete buffaloid slag reasons or even no reason at all!" He almost went on until he noticed the hunch of Ironhide's frame, the way the red mech had, unconsciously perhaps, turned a shoulder toward him and looked down to hide his faceplate.  The stature was so physically defensive that his fear-driven anger drained away immediately. He put a hand on the red shoulder. "Ironhide." He sighed. "I'm sorry.  I was just afraid, that's all.  Afraid of what would happen if you reacted that way in another situation, later.  But it worked out this time, so that's a problem for another day."

     Ironhide looked up at him with serious optics. "Ah did it again, didn' I?" He said slowly. "Hunched over like Ah'm bein' beat." At Ratchet's surprise, he gave a little smile. "Ya don't get that tone unless I done somethin' a healthy mech wouldn' do." He shrugged. "Ah'll work on it.  Both, things.  The, uh, punchin' an' the hunchin'." He snickered to himself at the pun.

     Ratchet sighed. "I see you've discovered wordplay jokes as well as rough jobs.  This could get tedious."

     "Aw, c'mon, Ratch'.  They're funny!" Ironhide said with a broad grin.

     Ratchet rolled his optics. "You're obviously fine.  And did you just call me Ratch'?"

     Ironhide shrugged. "Prob'm?"

     Had his dialect gotten thicker?  Scrap.  Construction crew informality.  And this Kup character sounded like an elderly ex-slave from the last Revolution, if his outdated name was any indication. "Just don't do it again, yes?" He said with exasperation before taking a sip of his energon.

     "Whatever you say, Ratch'."

     He glowered across the table at Ironhide's slag-eating grin.  Yeah, that slave-driven compliance definitely hadn't lasted long.  He gave a resigned outtake and studiously ignored his snickering companion as he went back to his energon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also I don't think I've mentioned this yet, but if anyone's reading this but prefers black paint Ironhide and is imagining him that way, I have no problem with that, but just so you know, it will change later. I like to incorporate both original cartoon red and movie black. I swear, Ironhide was the only thing in the entire movie series that I liked every single aspect of (Bumblebee came very very close but I disliked the deep voice they ended up giving him).


	9. Illusion's Decision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a talk with her creators, Illusion comes to a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter takes place several weeks later, after several routine check-ups with Ratchet. They've become friendly enough, but Ratchet denies true friendship.
> 
> **Minor edits to previous chapters regarding Illusion's creators due to how this turned out**
> 
> Semblance is pale blue with gray protoform. Glam is bright blue and silver. Nightbringer looks like he was black but his paint fades to dusky gray to pale gray on extremities and highlights across his chestplate, hips, and helm. All nobles have gold optics except Nightbringer and Illusion, with silver ones.
> 
> WARNINGS:  
> References to a Dominant/Submissive environment, enforced by laws and traditions which are applied based on physical characteristics, only in one social class.  
> References to heat cycles, not quite like the norm  
> Mentions of spousal abuse that's not seen as abuse by many and goes unportrayed

     "Illusion, you can't just walk away from him!" Semblance, her sire, threw up his hands. "Glam is a good match!  He's well-connected, he's fast, he's handsome, what more could you ask for?"

     "How about a mech who isn't a colossal manifold mouth?" Illusion snapped back.  She remained seated, arms folded, legs crossed, chin high, as he paced and her carrier sat aside, quiet and uncomfortable.

     Semblance waved her protest aside. "Illusion, you don't understand. Having dreams of romance is all well and good, and some lucky bots may find it, but it's not for us, not for the nobility.  We have rules and guidelines to follow, and you've rejected every other possible suitor to the point where you've alienated all but Glam!  You have no choice!  You _must_ accept his advances."

     "Why must I be bound at all?" Illusion demanded. "The young mechs don't have to be!"

     Semblance glowered at her. "Submissive mech and femme alike must be bound, you know that.  It's better for you.  You're almost of an age to go into heat, Illusion, do you know how difficult that would be if you aren't bound by then?"

     "How would you know?  You're a dominant." Illusion said scathingly.

     Her carrier finally spoke up. "Illusion, your sire's right about one thing, heats are difficult without a mate." He confessed quietly.

     "See?" Semblance gestured to him as if he were no more than an example, cutting off any further explanation. "And you've run out of options, dear.  Now, I've already talked to Glam and his sire.  The young mech has graciously agreed to overlook the destruction of his First Step and continue to court you for a time before he again attempts the Conjunx Ritus.  But you haven't much time."

     "I will not!" Illusion rose to her feet in her anger. "Glam is a self-serving, arrogant, hard-sparked, abusive, promiscuous, disloyal, processor-damaged, road-mad, race-happy, discompassionate son of a glitch without a shaving of kindness in his entire frame and I will die alone before I bond to a mech like him!"

     "I won't let that happen, and you don't have a choice!" Semblance roared, but as he started to continue, his focus was broken and he looked over at his Conjunx, the snarl still on his face.  Illusion glanced warily between them.  Her sire's snarl faded into a bitter curl of his lip plates, but he seemed to be listening to his Conjunx's calm counsel. "Have it your way, Lightbringer." He growled, storming out.

     Illusion looked questioningly at her carrier, whose expression had gone from its "Semblance is present" submissive poker face to bitterness. "For Primus' sake.  After all this time he can't remember that my name is Nightbringer.   _Lightsinger_ is his berthmate." He turned his attention to Illusion. "I told your sire I'd convince you.  I lied." He said bluntly, his voice louder and more confident the instant Semblance was gone.

     She was used to this.  Nightbringer was a subtly defiant mech, the reason she had grown up to challenge so much of their lifestyle.  He concealed his defiance but managed to make life comfortable for himself despite anything Semblance asked of him. "So, what is it you really wanted to say, Carrier?" She asked; with him alone did she still use affectionate titles for creators; Semblance was Semblance to all.

     Nightbringer's smirk became a sad smile as he reached over to take her white hand in two dusky gray ones. "I've never told you before, but I was once in your situation.  I defied my creators and I waited out my first few heats.  It's not so bad, really; it's worse on them.  They're the ones that lose control of themselves.  My creators kept pressuring me to find a Conjunx and I got tired - tired of hiding during my heats, tired of fighting them.  Semblance pressed the Conjunx Ritus, and I let it happen.  I let everyone else decide my fate.  And I became nothing but a toy for him."

     Illusion stiffened, staring at him.  He'd never confessed this before - they didn't discuss his relationship with her sire. "But . . ."

     "That is, until I had you." Nightbringer said with a crooked smile, and gave a deep outtake. "Listen, sparkling, what I'm trying to say is don't you dare give in if you don't want to.  Don't let them decide your fate.  I don't regret having you, and I wouldn't trade you for all the freedom in the world, I hope you know that.  But I don't want this life for you.  I want you to have the life and the freedom you deserve, and you won't find that here, with them.  Do whatever makes you happy."

     Illusion couldn't hold back a few coolant tears stinging her optics, and she hugged him with a wide smile, touched.  He smiled back as they separated, still clasping hands. "Thank you," she said sincerely. "But what will we tell Semblance?"

     "I failed to convince you.  You'll do what you want." Nightbringer shrugged.

     Her smile faded. "But he'll hurt you."

     Nightbringer's became resigned. "Darling, he'll hurt me anyway.  It won't be bad; he cares in his own way.  He won't see me truly injured.  Just promise me you will never do anything just because someone else wants you to do it.  Be true to your spark; that's all that matters, in the end."

     "Even if there's nothing to be gained by defiance?" Illusion said hesitantly, unable to keep her gaze from wandering to the deep scratches peeking over the edge of Nightbringer's hip armor, to his exposed protoform.

     A small, slender hand gripped her chin and turned her focus back to his face, where he looked intently at her. "There is everything to be gained, dear spark.  We are not submissive, but with our coding and the laws the way they are, I can't go against your sire directly.  Don't ever box yourself in like that.  Don't ever let anyone tell you you aren't worth every single bit as much as anyone else, and deserve just as much as they get, because you are and you do.  This . . ." He clenched his hands. "You deserve so much more than this, but you're going to have to work for it." He met her gaze again.

     "If it's only going to cause you pain . . ." she started.

     "It may cause me a little bit of pain when Semblance throws a temper tantrum, but it's going to get you a lot more than that." Nightbringer dismissed it.

     "Like what?" Illusion asked almost desperately.

     He smirked at her. "Whatever it is you want, and victory.  You get to show everyone that we're not what we seem.  And maybe all of our lives will get a little better because of it.  But yours?  Yours will be a Pit of a lot better because you didn't let yourself get hemmed in.  Wherever you end up in life, it's because _you chose_ to be there.  And you'll be the happier for it.  I think that's more than worth it."

     Illusion smiled weakly. "Thank you." Stronger she repeated, "Thank you." She hugged him again.

     Nightbringer gave her a warm smile when she released him. "So, little one.  What is it that you want?"

     She looked at him with determination. "I want whatever will make them angriest.  I want to be myself, I don't want a dominant Conjunx.  I'd rather have a Common mate." Then she stopped, and a slow smile came to her face as well before she met his gaze again. "I think, for now, Carrier, I want to court my doctor.  He probably won't understand, and if he does, he's far more worth it than Glam has a prayer of being."

     "And?  I sense an and." Nightbringer's smirk had returned.

     "And it will frag. Them. Off." She grinned.

     Her carrier laughed out loud. "If that's what will make you happy.  I raised you well; I'm proud of you." He leaned forward and kissed her cheek plate. "Now.  Go find a gift to send to your sweetspark, little one.  I'll handle your sire."

     She hugged him impulsively again, both still giggling intermittently. "Thank you.  I love you, Carrier."

     "I love you too, little one." Nightbringer gave her a little push when they both stood. "Now go on.  He's coming back."

     "Good luck, Carrier."

     "Good luck, Illusion."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Submissive mechs are mechs with a "two valve array", like a femme, rather than your traditional male "valve and spike" array (which I would never ever be able to actually say out loud). They're not actually submissive, as proven by Nightbringer here. In the armor that serves as clothes for this species they appear to be mechs but possess all the "carrying equipment" of femmes. There are femmes with the opposite adaptation, but since femmes are statistically rarer on every planet but Caminus, that's where they're usually found. Both are uncommon within their gender population.
> 
> Dear spark comes from how my maternal grandma used to say "dear heart" excessively when talking to kids.
> 
> WHEW. Worldbuilding and three chapters in a day! I wrote this chapter instead of sleeping . . . oh well, point out any errors if you see them. Thanks everyone, particularly Misukitt because in reading their previous comments, I suddenly had the idea to have Illusion start courting Ratchet . . . out of sheer spite, and have it grow. Thanks my lovely reader!


	10. The First of Many

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet receives an unexpected package and Ironhide is snarky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit to my non-TF fan cousin for the idea for what's inside the package.
> 
> Takes place the day after the last chapter.

     The doors were pinged on Ratchet's day off, and he looked up in surprise. "Who could that be?" He muttered, rising to his pedes and going to open it.  He was met with a well-groomed youngling holding a package. "This is the residence of Ratchet of Praxus, correct?  A doctor working at, uh . . ." He looked down at the package hurriedly before returning to his obviously practiced formal tones. "Iacon Regional Hospital?"

     Ratchet blinked. "Erh.  Yes?  Why?"

     "This is for you." The youngling held it out for him.

     "I didn't order anything." Ratchet said in surprise, looking over his shoulder at the red mech leaning on the wall behind him.

     Ironhide just grinned. "Ah got mah first job outta slavery two weeks ago.  I don't know nobody!  Don't look at me."

     "Your speech has just gotten worse since you joined that construction crew." Ratchet grumbled, reluctantly taking the package with a nod.  Sure enough, it had his name, occupation, and address on the label.  Before he could produce a credit or two to tip the youngling he'd already dashed off.  He snorted and closed the doors.  Good riddance, in that case.

     Ironhide followed him. "What is that thang anyway?"

     "I haven't the faintest idea." Ratchet could hold the package easily in one hand.  Scanning his address was enough to open the box, revealing a set of medical tricorders.  A high-dollar _Praxian_ set, at that, not the beat-up old Iaconian standard issue ones he'd received for his work at Iacon Regional. "Oh, holy Primus." He picked them up, unconscious of the broad smile on his faceplates.

     His companion broke the initial spell of surprise and joy by poking one aside in the box. "Huh.  Medical tricorders." He said bluntly. "Better'n yours."

     "Exactly.  The Board must have finally taken my advice." Ratchet said, almost gleeful at the idea. "About time, too.  Those old things were barely working anymore and almost everyone's struggling with them.  I wonder if they've listened to anything else I've been saying."

     "Maybe this'd tell ya." Ironhide pulled a mini-storage datapad out of the bottom of the box. "Note."

     Ratchet took it and turned it on.  He found himself mildly surprised when he didn't have to add his hospital password.  Just a moment into the note he was already certain of why and his smile had vanished.  It was indeed a note, but not from the hospital.  It read:

 

_"To: Ratchet_

_From: Illusion_

_Doctor, during our last several appointments, you have complained about your standard issue tricorders.  Over the course of our association I have gleaned that you prefer Praxian equipment.  Given your complaints against your current ones and this preference, I took the liberty of purchasing this set.  Please inform me if they are unacceptable for use.  Otherwise, please use them.  Perhaps your better successes will lead the Board to change their minds.  Consider it a gift._

 

     Her name sigil was written at the bottom in an elegant signature.  Even he knew not to argue when a noble offered him a gift, however much it made his energon boil.  He was not a charity case!

     A look back at the set immediately softened that feeling.  For all he wasn't a charity case, he could help a lot more bots a lot better with these.  And he could finally get rid of the scrappy standard set.  No one cared if they mysteriously disappeared.  If that happened enough times perhaps he'd be able to get them all replaced with sets like these.

     He gave a frustrated huff. "Can't even be irritated at her now." He tossed the note down on the table and didn't bother to stop Ironhide from reading it.

     The other mech gave an amused snort. "What's yer problem, Doc Bot, annoyed she thinks ya can't do yer job as well without these?"

     "I'm annoyed because she's a noble, and she paid attention to me, and that's never a good thing.  Alright she - she might be different from the rest but of course I can do my job fine with either set."

     "Gone from hatin' her ta wantin' to impress her?" Ironhide teased.

     Ratchet glowered at him. "Where the Pit did you get that idea?"

     "Ah didn't, Ah's just wonderin' if you'd get all defensive like ya do when I just said somethin' you don't wanna admit to." Ironhide wore that wide, slag-eating grin that had become all too familiar.

     "I am not-" Ratchet cut himself off to huff. "Not obligated to explain my annoyances to anyone." He said archly, ignoring the snort of derision from his friend. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to start transferring my information over to these."

     Ironhide seemed to focus now. "You can do that without askin'?"

     "We're allowed to replace the standard tricorders by hospital policy, as long as they're approved, and this is a set I've had my optic on for a long time.  Used to have one, actually.  I just could never afford it.  Most of us can't.  They're expensive items." Ratchet admitted.

     Ironhide smirked at him. "Oh, so yer worried yer gonna disappoint her."

     Ratchet whacked him over the helm. "Make yourself useful, go get my old set."

     "I'm a-goin', I'm a-goin'." Ironhide laughed on his leisurely way out the door.

     Ratchet shook his helm.  How in Primus' name had Ironhide gotten the idea he _liked_ Illusion, in any way, shape, or form?  She was a _noble_ , a Velocitronian with a cycling condition that he'd met on a call.  She had a horrible relationship with her sire and obvious family problems, as well as a complete aft as a suitor, and her carrier seemed nice enough on the outside but was obviously hiding something.  She was defiant, contrary, a troublemaker . . .

     Slag.  He knew way too much about this femme.  Why did he know so much about her?  He shouldn't know anything beyond her physical symptoms, maybe a few hobbies to keep her occupied chattering while he worked.  For frag's sake.  Was Ironhide . . .

     She was a _patient_ , he told himself firmly as Ironhide strolled back in with his medical case, and turned his attention to the transfer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aha, you thought I was gonna show his crush too didn't you.  
> Ironhide: Called it.  
> Nightbringer: For frag's sake. Mech's ruining my OTP.  
> How did you two learn to break the fourth wall?  
> Ironhide: Jazz.  
> Nightbringer: What, like it's hard?


	11. Self-Defense . . . Sort Of

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a few weeks at work, Ironhide runs into some red tape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus points to the reader who finds the reference.

     "Ironhide." Kup called his name from below.

     Ironhide stubbornly refused to look down.  He didn't need to know how high he was.  He really didn't.  He knew it was too high.  Probably he highest he'd ever been in his life.  And the narrow support beams didn't feel trustworthy.  They felt like the same ones that held up the mine shafts and he knew all too well how fragile those were.  He couldn't look down.

     "Ironhide!" Inferno snapped it this time, from beside him, with a whack on his shoulder. "Y'okay, old mech?" He asked warily.

     Ironhide shook himself. "Yeah, kid.  Little nervous.  Supports feel all wrong an' I'm higher than I been in my life.  What is it, Kup?" He called back, still refusing to look down at his manager.

     "Geddown here, I need to talk to ya."

     At this Ironhide couldn't help turning to glare at him. "If ya wan'ed to get me down why didn' ya jus' say so?" He found himself gripping the upright next to him and focusing hard on the mech and not his location.

     Kup gave him a look. "'Cause if I just said 'geddown' every slaggin' bot would be climbin' on down an' I can't have that, now can I?  I learn' better in the last Revolution when we took the Spires of Vos . . ."

     Ironhide tuned him out and headed down. "Oh, Inferno." He said, turning just in time to catch the young red and white mech. "Thanks fer the helpin' hand, yeah?"

     Inferno grinned back. "No prob'm.  There's a reason I'm headed for the Fire Department once I get some work experience." He said cheerfully, and waved as Ironhide descended to the ground.

     Reaching Kup, Ironhide asked, "What is it, boss?"

     Kup rubbed the back of his neck cables. "Look, mech, yer just an employee so you clock in an' clock out like ev'rybody else an' this is th' only way I can talk to ya one on one is when the crew's workin'.  You've surely noticed by naow how bots treat you differently if they hear yer accent an' know you were a slave.  It don't get better, an' bein' on a construction crew ain't great for public opinion either.  We're rough bots and folks know it."

     "What's yer point, Kup?" Ironhide asked after letting him ramble that long.

     "M' point is it ain't safe." Kup said bluntly. "This world ain't safe for mechs like us.  I learned to fight in a war, and mech, I was around to see it build." There was a haunted look in his optics. "Yer gonna need to know how to defend yerself, an' not just with sheer weight an' strength.  That won't get ya anywhere if the other side's got numbers.  Ya need to learn how to fight, fight well, an' fight dirty."

     Ironhide frowned. "Ah been told," He said carefully. "that fightin's not somethin' a mech's supposed to do, even up here."

     "Well, technically speakin', it ain't." Kup admitted. "But learnin' how is a hobby these days.  An' it'll serve you well as a slave if someone decides t' come after you, an' believe me, they will.  I been in your armor." He shook his head. "Bots leave me alone now because they know I'm old, as old as Alpha Trion, that sage in the Hall of Records, an' they know I know who he is." He smirked a little. "Nobody else does an' he'd like to keep it that way.  I got nothin' to gain so I keep my vocalizer off out of respect.  Thing is, they _won't_ leave you alone.  I've seen all too many slaves come out lookin' for a job an' jus' get lynched.  I like you.  I'd rather not see that happen."

     "So what are ya gonna do?" Ironhide said.  Whatever happened, it couldn't be any worse than before.

     Kup gave his game smile again. "Ah'm gonna teach you how to fight.  You let your buddy know you're takin' self-defense classes an' you'll jus' come with me to train after work.  I wanna make it clear I ain't sayin' this as your employer; ya don't have to.  I'm sayin' this as a fellow slave, someone who knows what yer facin', an' I hope as a friend.  Lemme know tomorrow, yeah?  Y' kin git back ta work now."

     Ironhide looked after him for a moment before mounting the steps again to return to work.

 

* * *

 

 

     Ratchet was quiet for a long minute after Ironhide recounted Kup's request and reasons.  After a minute he gave a deep outtake and pinched the base of his chevron. "He's right." He said reluctantly. "Former slaves face a lot of problems in Iacon.  I gambled on you being too big and intimidating for a bot to mess with, but if you're ever caught in a crowd, there's a very real danger." He spread his hands. "Go ahead.  He sounds sincere."

     "Ah think he was, Ratch'." Ironhide said thoughtfully.  He cast a smirk up at his friend. "An' Ah been a pretty good judge of character so far."

     The white mech frowned. "I'm not so sure." He said gruffly.

     "You've never beat me.  You've never tried.  You've never hurt me except to heal.  You've never violated me, no way, no how.  Including those codes." Ironhide's tone went a little more intense with that last phrase, trying to bore his gaze through Ratchet's profile. "Ah don't think Ah ever thanked you, really, for what ya did that day.  Codes an' all, I'd . . . I'd rather be up here than down there." As Ratchet looked up he let his own gaze fall. "Much as I pity the ones Ah lef' behind."

     Ratchet let silence reign for a minute. "So do I, Ironhide." He said quietly. "They deserve better."

     "Thanks for givin' a few of us the chance." Ironhide said with a crooked smile.  He rose and clapped Ratchet on the shoulder before leaving the room.  He wasn't in the mood to have a deep emotional discussion.

 

* * *

 

 

     _Clang - clang - crash_. Ironhide groaned as he hit the floor again.  Kup was prepared for his strength this time and he couldn't _beat_ the older mech.  He could hear Kup's cackling with glee, and the steps practically bouncing around him. "Ya gonna tell me anythin' or jus' keep throwin' punches?" He asked without getting up.

     Kup laughed again. "Waitin' for you to get tired enough to ask, young mech." He came over and offered a hand up.  Ironhide didn't take it; he didn't trust the green mech not to flip him again.  The grin widened. "Now we start the real lesson.  First rule of combat; know your enemy.  What do you know about my fightin' style that you can use against me?  Second, know your weaknesses.  I know 'em jus' from sparrin' with ya.  Do you?"

     "Weight an' speed." Ironhide said grumpily. "Ya been usin' my own weight against me an' I'm too slow to catch you."

     Kup arched his optic ridges. "Halfway right there, mech.  You could catch me.  If ya jus' paid attention. I've got weak spots too.  Find one.  Ya ready?"

     "That's it?" Ironhide asked.

     "For now." Kup punched and he just managed to block him.

     This time, Kup's advice running through his processor, Ironhide didn't retaliate.  He waited, blocking only, watching, trying to find Kup's weakness.  The green mech kept circling him, punching here and there, but without any real force.  He was barely scratching Ironhide's paint, if that.  He was light on his pedes, for a mech his size.  Like Ironhide he kept his hands up, ready to defend himself.  After a couple of breems of this, his punches started coming faster, occasionally harder.  He was getting impatient.

     Suddenly it hit him and Ironhide grinned.  Kup was _impatient_. For such an old mech it was rather ironic, but he was.  He wasn't trying to win, he was trying to draw Ironhide out!  Come to think of it, his punches, even at full strength, weren't what had kept driving him to the ground.  It had been his own momentum as Kup grabbed and redirected him.

     But he couldn't just wait this out.  Ironhide observed for another minute, his grin growing when Kup caught sight of it and turned wary.  Suddenly he lunged as he had before, not bothering to try Kup's quick feint.  As predicted, the green mech sidestepped and caught his arm.  Ironhide yanked on it, grabbing on with the same hand, and swung Kup toward the wall.

     He couldn't muster the strength to throw Kup's grip off, but he did prevent himself from falling and cause Kup to stumble.  The green mech laughed and released him. "Good, good!  Nex' time don't stop.  Keep swingin', see if you can get me to let go.  If ya face an enemy that won't let go, trip 'em up, make 'em stumble, an' strike as hard as you can at the neck." Then he paused and grinned. "Not in sparrin', obviously, then ya wanna just tap it ta pretend ya did.  Could really hurt a bot if ya really struck that way.  Now ya know what those weaknesses are.  Ya caught on pretty quick.  Try not to get into a fight with a trained opponent if ya don't know anythin' about 'em, though.  Sometimes they work too quick an' don't give ya the chance t' learn."

     Ironhide nodded, filing the information carefully. "What's next?"

     "Next?  I teach you some real moves." The grin widened. "First you take the hit.  Then you name the hit.  Then you learn how to give it back.  Left hook." He landed a solid punch with his left hand to Ironhide's jaw, sending him stumbling. "Take that back.  I name it an' give it.  Then I make sure you know the name.  _Then_ ya learn how t' do it.  We'll just do some basics today."

     Ironhide threw his left fist forward and landed an identical, equally solid, hit to Kup's jaw.  He took mild satisfaction in the fact that Kup stumbled farther. "Like that?" He said dryly.

     Kup laughed. "Jus' like that." He came closer again and clapped him on the shoulder. "Fast learner."

     "So Ah've been told." Ironhide replied, smirking.

     "Well, we got about another half a joor before the dojo wants the floor for Metallikato lessons.  Let's get down to business."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heheheheh. "Red tape". Thought it'd be a bad thing huh.  
> Yes I'm a troll. I regret nothing.  
> Reference hint: Kup's dialogue. It's a movie quote.  
> Update: I have realized after posting this that I missed the best opportunity ever to bring in a background character (a self-defense teacher of course) named Red Tape. So just know that this mech exists. He is caution yellow.


	12. Ratchet's Realization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet puts two and two together about a certain noble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, cards on the table guys, I hate filler chapters. I hate writing them, I dislike reading them. So I'm skipping to the next major event even though I could write more about the stuff referenced that happened in the interval.
> 
> Interval was about two vorns, by the way. In my verse vorns are months to Cybertronians but as far as human time they're about sixty days.

 

> " _The ritual of gift-giving remains prominent in the high-class culture of today._ "

 

     Finally, some useful information.  Ratchet had been researching all morning.  He'd received at least ten gifts from Illusion, some of which were related to his profession, but others simply things they'd chatted about.  He'd treated nobles before and not received this treatment.  He had to know what she was doing.

 

 

> _"The practice serves many purposes.  Gifts are given on creation days in most levels of the culture, but among nobles these gifts take on new meaning.  Gifts are reserved primarily for family, or very close friends, on such days of celebration.  They are also used, as well as other acts of service, in the courtship rituals of the nobility.  There is a fine line between these courtship rituals and the Conjunx Ritus, which is why the Ritus is so very clear-cut for such a culture.  Courtship gifts and services are minor trinkets compared to the extraordinary devotion and trust that must be expressed to complete the Ritus (see Conjunx Ritus for more information). Such courtship can last for vorns, generally performed primarily by the instigator.  However, a lack of response is seen as a refusal and will eventually result in the cessation of the courtship.  Either side may break off courtship to begin the Conjunx Ritus, though it is generally done by the instigator."  
>  _

 

     No.  No, no, no, no, no.  There had to be something else . . . Ratchet skimmed further, but this had been his last datapad.  All the others had dealt with the Commons, and this was a reputable article . . . oh scrap!  She was courting him!?  This couldn't be happening.  As if his life could get any more complicated.  He groaned, pinching his chevron.  For all she was kind, this could not happen.

     Because she was a kind bot at spark.  Kind, but a spitfire, stubborn, loyal, sweet, defiant, ambitious, determined . . . He groaned again.  He'd developed feelings for a patient.  He'd developed feelings for a high-maintenance patient and now he couldn't even deny them because she was literally flirting with him.

     What was he going to do!?  He couldn't have a relationship with the femme!  She was a patient!  They were doing _business_ , this was his _job_.

     Ironhide, who had been quietly reading on the other side of the living room, commented dryly, "Rough day?"

     "She's courting me." Ratchet grumbled, then repeated louder, "She's courting me.  Illusion - is courting me.  This is ridiculous, it's impossible." He tapped the datapad with a digit joint in disbelief. "Can't happen."

     "You like her?" Ironhide set aside his own datapad readily, turning his full attention to Ratchet.

     "No!" Ratchet answered automatically, and then huffed in frustration. "Yes.  But it can't go anywhere."

     Ironhide tilted his helm. "Why not?"

     Ratchet looked at him for a moment, needing to remind himself that Ironhide hadn't been raised with class dynamics, let alone work ethic. "One, she's a noble, and I'm Commons, which means I'm not considered 'good enough'.  Two, I'm a doctor.  She's my patient.  I can't just court a patient, it's immoral.  I can't take advantage of her that way." He shook his head with finality.

     To his surprise, Ironhide just snorted. "Looks like she's the one takin' advantage of you, Doc.  Look, yer not the one pushin' it.  Enterin' a relationship with a patient don't take away yer ability to treat 'em, does it?"

     "It can . . . make one more unstable with stress in an emergency, yes." Ratchet said stubbornly.

     Ironhide considered. "Didn't stop ya with me, did it?  Ah mean, we're jus' friends, but it'd still be stressful to treat me in an emergency, right?"

     "Yes." Ratchet didn't even have to think about it.  Since Kup's insistence on self-defense classes, he couldn't help but imagine all the ways Ironhide could be hurt badly just for existing.

     Ironhide spread his hands. "Then Ratch', I don' see yer problem.  Yer not gonna take advantage of her, an' she's the one pushin' things.  If ya didn' like her back Ah'd say ignore it, but given ya do, why not try it?  Worst thing that can happen is it don't work out.  It ain't illegal to be courtin' a noblefemme, is it?"

     Ratchet gave an outtake. "Technically, no." He admitted.

     "Is it illegal for a doctor to court a patient?"

     "No."

     "Well there ya go." Ironhide sat back. "Talk to the femme, Doc Bot.  See where things go."

     Ratchet considered, finally shaking his head as he realized he'd known in his spark all along he'd listen to Ironhide. "When did you get so wise?" He asked, looking over at the red mech with brows furrowed.

     "No vocal filter." Ironhide replied blandly.

     Ratchet couldn't repress a huff of amusement.

    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so for those curious about Glam's "First Step", it refers to the First Step of the Conjunx Ritus which I'd planned to reveal around here but Ratchet decided not to read that article. The reason it's a sign of devotion from him is because of how much time it took him to grow the crystal with such a distinct two color design in any kind of pattern; they're Velocitronian so it's doubly so, because they're by nature impatient for the most part.


	13. Semblance Reacts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Illusion's plan starts to pay off, but she's not sure she likes the effect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just snorted when I saw the views on this - 187 - because at least like ten of those are actually me when I forgot to log in on a mobile device.
> 
> WARNING: Chapter depicts spousal abuse, including sexual abuse, considered legitimate by the class society, along with a reference to the same previous d/s themes. The sexual abuse scene is not very graphic; no armor comes off that's actually depicted, it's just heavily implied.

     "Nightbringer." Semblance's tone was harsh and his Conjunx inwardly winced. "We need to talk." A blue arm wrapped firmly around Nightbringer's waist and he was guided - with no question whether he'd obey - into Semblance's personal living room in his suite.  He was silently directed at a chair; he sat demurely, keeping his optics down, not meeting Semblance's gaze.  He heard the larger mech sit down across from him, spreading his limbs on the couch, perhaps unconsciously asserting his dominance over the situation.

     After a breem of silence Nightbringer glanced sidelong at him. "My lord?" He said softly, prompting, but refusing to use his name.

     Semblance didn't seem to mind. "I spoke with Glam, and Jubilation." He said, very calmly.  His field broadened to merge with Nightbringer's, broadcasting dissatisfaction, irritation, and downright anger, despite his tone. "Glam's courtship remains unanswered by Illusion.  Evidently she's been caught sending courtship gifts to someone else.  Someone down in the city - a commoner, at that.  I assured Jubilation it must be a mistake, but his son knows better and we won't fool him for long.  Their family has ties to the Senator of Tarn on this planet - a powerful mech by the name of Shockwave.  It would be foolish to turn him away, and yet . . ." He leaned forward. "She continues to do so.  You told me you would convince her."

     Nightbringer still refused to look at him, fixing his optics instead at a point on the wall apart from them. "I did my best." He lied coolly; Semblance had never been able to tell when he was lying.  If they were spark-bonded perhaps it would be different, but of course, Semblance would not bind himself so surely to anyone.  He'd been grateful for that more times than he wanted to count.

     He felt claws on his chin, turning his face so he had no choice but to look at his Conjunx.  Semblance's expression was dangerous. "You failed."

     "Clearly." Nightbringer whispered, playing his Conjunx's sympathies for all he was worth, keeping his voice and expressions meek and even frightened.

     Semblance's face and field darkened, shifted.  He smiled coldly. "Oh, but you tried, didn't you?" He murmured, tilting Nightbringer's head back, so close he could feel the larger mech's cycling on his face. "Pity you'll still have to be punished.  I remind you, I demand perfection from my clan, as my sire before me.  And we can't simply tolerate a failure, now can we?"

     Nightbringer shuttered his optics, remaining silent as Semblance's digits stroked his neck and chin, keeping his helm tilted back, vulnerable.  A harsh, stinging slap was landed to his cheek and he yelped, automatically reaching up to soothe it, only to have his hands batted away and his face gripped more powerfully, painfully.  His optic shutters snapped open wide to see Semblance's angry expression. "I want you focused on me." Semblance growled.  The harsh hand on his chin made it painfully clear how serious he was.

     "My lord." Nightbringer whispered, again keeping his tone submissive.  The more cooperative he was, the less he was punished and the quicker it was over.  He had accepted this long ago.  He just rather hoped Illusion was occupied elsewhere.

     "Good." Semblance sat back and gestured at his lap. "Come here."

     _My, how degrading_ , Nightbringer thought sardonically, though he obeyed without outward question.  It had been a while since Semblance demanded any . . . 'berth favors', shall he say, from him.  Lightsinger had been satisfying him.  It seemed he'd remembered just who was his Conjunx.

     He wasn't sure it was a blessing.

     Hands smoothed over his plating.  The touch felt wrong; Semblance was tense, ready to snap at any moment and turn his stroking into blows or scratches.  Nightbringer remained still or pliant, arching his back obediently when it was pressed, making all the right sounds as Semblance nipped at his neck, though it was in reality rather painful. "I wonder," Semblance murmured into his audio. "if you are still as good as you were when I bonded you.  You never did have Lightsinger's skill."

     _Perhaps you should analyze why that is_. Nightbringer bit back the words, knowing Semblance did not want a response. _Whore_ , He thought disparagingly as his Conjunx continued to murmur in favor of Lightsinger.

     "What do you want?" Semblance whispered.

     Nightbringer didn't reply.  Semblance already had a plan, his opinion didn't factor into it, and they both knew it.

     "Answer me, Conjunx." Semblance growled.

     _At least he remembers that much_. "Whatever you desire, my lord." He said submissively.

     Semblance gave a little smile. "That's what I like to hear.  On your knees, then.  You're not much good for anything else, now that you've lost control of Illusion."

     _Oh, you have no idea how in control I am_. Nightbringer thought, obeying.

 

* * *

 

 

     Semblance was a rough lover even when he wasn't punishing.  He had the courtesy to support Nightbringer to his - as in Semblance's - personal washrack when he was completely finished with him.  He left him there to clean himself up, however, observing clinically, "You may want to have a few of those scratches looked at." on his way out.

     Once he was gone Nightbringer leaned against the wall, helm thunking softly back against it, letting his stoic mask fall away as coolant pricked at his optics and he shuttered them.  He slowly sank down the wall, his entire body aching, intake raw and all the sensors between his legs dulled automatically as his processor's defense.  He buried his face in his hands and knees and cried, softly.  Cried from the pain, from the situation, from how he could ever have thought he'd grow to love this mech.

     His Conjunx had left the suite entirely and wouldn't notice how long he stayed in the washrack.  After probably about half a joor, he wiped his tears away and fixed his optics on a chip in the wall across from him.  Determination spread across his face.

     He would _not_ allow this to happen to his daughter if it was the last thing he did.

 

* * *

 

 

     "Carrier?" Illusion asked, cautiously.  Nightbringer's suite door had been open - as usual when he was there - but she didn't see him.  The light was off in his reception room.

     "The den, sweetspark." Nightbringer called from an adjoining room.

     Illusion entered there more surely.  The den was a cozy, rather small room, with soft mesh furniture and a wide window seat.  They had easily taken to sitting there to talk, as Semblance hated the room and rarely bothered to interrupt.

     Sure enough, Nightbringer sat in the window seat, casting a kind smile toward her as she entered. "Come, come." He said, patting the spot beside him. "Talk to me." Looking closer as she did, he gave her a knowing look. "Something's on your mind."

     "It is." Illusion admitted. "How does one decide when to stop courting someone if they're not getting a response?  I have another home appointment with Ratchet today, and he's yet to comment on the gifts."

     "I thought you were doing it to annoy Glam and your sire." Nightbringer commented, arching an optic ridge at her.

     Illusion's cheek plates stained with blue as she blushed. "So did I." She admitted. "But I've really started to get to know him, and . . ." She shrugged. "I think I really like him.  It feels different than it ever did with the ones who courted me.  He's so very honest - biting, sometimes, but honest.  Sometimes he reminds me of you, actually, with what he says." She gave a little grin as Nightbringer chuckled.

     "Hmm.  And you think you want to court him in earnest." He said, looking closely at her.

     She nodded shyly. "Is that strange?  I've known him for only a few vorns, after all . . ."

     "It's not strange at all, little one.  But do you want to court him only?  Do you just find pleasure in the flirtation?  Or do you actually want to go further?  Because make no mistake, my dear, he's a commoner.  He may not fully understand the difference.  And formal courting like this is more important to them.  If he does return this, he'll mean it.  Are you prepared to even consider binding yourself to someone?"

     Illusion bit her lower mouthplate. "I think life with him wouldn't be such a bad thing." She said it as if she was admitting something, and looked at him almost nervously.

     Nightbringer gave a soft outtake. "Illusion, just because I'm not happy with the bond I consented to, doesn't mean bonding itself is the cause of it.  If you both truly mean it, want it, then you'll make an effort, and you may find a real love out of it.  Just be sure it's what you truly want, not something you're doing because it's fun for now."

      She nodded again. "I understand.  I don't know how he feels, but I think it's worth a try."

     "Then try." Nightbringer said kindly.

     Illusion hugged him, not noticing his wince at the pressure on the scratches Semblance had left on his back. "Thank you.  It's almost time for my appointment.  I should go meet him."

     "Good luck." Nightbringer said, rising to give her their usual kiss on the cheek goodbye.

     That wince, as he stood, she didn't miss. "What's wrong?"

     "I'm fine, little one." Nightbringer dismissed.

     She looked closer at him, noticing the pale bruises on his neck and exposed protoform. "You're not." She gave a distressed little noise. "Semblance beat you again, didn't he?"

     "Not beat, no." Nightbringer hedged. "I'm alright."

     "Come with me." She urged. "Maybe I can convince Ratchet to do something, or at least make sure you truly are alright."

     Nightbringer gave her a skeptical look, and then an exasperated smile. "You're not going to leave me alone until I come, are you?"

     "No.  Come." She grasped his hand and tugged gently.

     He chuckled softly. "Very well, little one, I'm coming."


	14. Meeting Nightbringer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet finally meets Nightbringer without Semblance around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry not sorry for the angst last chapter. Here's some fun awkward Ratchet to make up for it.
> 
> References to the last chapter's spousal abuse. Ratchet identifies it as marital rape.

     "Ratchet." Illusion greeted him warmly, as usual, though she was standing as if she'd just arrived as well.

     "Illusion," Ratchet replied with a friendly smile that faded quickly upon seeing she wasn't alone.  He couldn't place the relationship of the slim, black and gray mech.  He'd been very passive - perhaps just someone he'd passed in a hallway. "And, eh, who's this?"

     Illusion glanced at the mech, allowing him to reply for himself.  To Ratchet's surprise, the noble gave a polite little half-bow and a warm smile almost identical to Illusion's. "My name is Nightbringer.  My daughter insisted I come meet you.  She's merely being overprotective, I'm afraid."

     Ratchet furrowed his optic ridges. "I was under the impression that Semblance was Illusion's sire, and that his Conjunx was a femme?" He left it as a question, though after the statement he saw a number of similarities between the two despite their vastly differing colors.

     Nightbringer's face spasmed. "You are correct about Semblance; however, the femme you saw is his berthmate, not his Conjunx." He said bluntly. "We're all fully aware of the situation, not that my opinion matters." He shrugged one shoulder. "Carry on, I won't be in your way." He pulled a datapad from his subspace. "I have my reading." He retreated to a corner and sat down, grimacing as he did so.

     No matter how he tried, Ratchet never could just ignore it when a bot was obviously in pain.  Still, he'd been dismissed . . . he turned to Illusion.  As he began their usual scans, he asked quietly, "Do you know what's wrong with him?"

     "Not exactly, only that Semblance did it." She was obviously holding something back, but she looked almost sick when she glanced at her creator, and he opted not to press the issue. "Is there any way you could check him over as well?  His doctor is also Semblance's, and he won't treat anything Semblance did.  At least check him over?  We can obviously pay you if you desire it.  But he'll let it go untouched if no one does anything."

     That pulled at Ratchet's spark and he glanced at the slender mech again.  He'd bet anything that Nightbringer had been raped, based just on the ginger way he sat.  He winced in sympathy and gave a deep outtake. "Payment won't be necessary." He said after a moment.

     "Thank you." Illusion sounded relieved as she grasped his hand.

     "I did take an oath to heal when I can." Ratchet said, shrugging, trying to brush it off, uncomfortable warmth spreading from her hand on his even after she released it.

     "A fact I'm sure many are thankful for." She replied confidently.

     Routine examinations were always short.  Most of the time Illusion's appointments took was travel time; he finished quickly. "Well." He cleared his intake. "Have you noticed anything unusual?"

     "No.  Everything has been just fine.  I've managed not to aggravate it at all.  Moving here seems like it was actually a good idea.  Life on Cybertron has an easier pace," Illusion said.

     He nodded. "Well, in that case, I'd usually leave.  But, erh," He looked over at Nightbringer, who was still reading. "My lord?" He attempted a respectful tone, but it came out sounding as if he had a bad taste in his mouth.  He chose not to correct it.

     Nightbringer chuckled, setting his datapad aside. "You needn't make yourself uncomfortable on my account, my good sir." He said with a small smile. "Call me Nightbringer.  I am not the lord of anything." He arched an optic ridge and his smile widened a little. "She convinced you to check me over, didn't she?  Nosy young femme." He made a face at his daughter.

     As Illusion giggled, Ratchet couldn't stop a small laugh of surprise and amusement.  He'd never - even with Illusion - witnessed a noble be so informal and even . . . playful.  Moving toward the smaller mech, he reflected that this explained a lot about who Illusion was, really.  He started a scan but almost immediately shook his head and stood back. "I'm sorry, you'll have to get up.  You're clearly injured but I need a more in-depth scan to determine how badly."

     Nightbringer obediently stood.  Though he'd seen the mech standing before, Ratchet found himself surprised when, up close, he was not only much slimmer but noticeably shorter than Ratchet himself.  Illusion had inherited much from her creatrix's frame.  He shook himself and focused on his scans.  He couldn't help but wince now and then as he considered each injury.  Most were minor scratches and bruises that really just needed to be kept clean.  There was little he could do for the injuries to his throat and nether regions; those read a little overheated, inflamed, but most likely from just being used raw.

     "How is he?" Illusion asked after he sat back to consider the readings.

     Ratchet gave a deep outtake and directed his answer at Nightbringer. "Most of the injuries are minor cuts and bruises.  Keep them clean and they'll heal on their own.  There's a cut on the back of your helm I'm a little concerned about, and two on your back.  I'd feel better if I could do some spot-welding to make sure they close up properly.  As for the rest . . ." Even if Illusion didn't understand, Nightbringer certainly would. "There's really nothing I can do about it except give you some painkillers."

     Nightbringer waved it off. "Semblance would just get rid of them.  I'll manage.  Is there an on-site alternative to the spot-welding?"

     "Not that I . . . actually, I do have a couple of clamps." Ratchet remembered the ones he'd recently received in yet another package from Illusion. "I didn't carry them for a long time, but since I have them, I can make that work if you really don't like the idea of full treatment."

     "I'd . . . just rather no one noticed enough to comment, as they would if I left without him." Nightbringer said.

     Ratchet paused to give him a close look.  His tanks churned a little.  This was not a healthy relationship, all too clearly.  Could he say something?  Should he? He pondered as he planted the three clamps, carefully.

     Nightbringer changed the subject before he could decide. "So you said you don't normally carry these?  What changed?" He asked innocently.

     There was a flare of happiness and amusement from the nobles' usually tightly-reined fields, and Ratchet tried to ignore it. "Ehm.  Actually, they were . . . a gift.  From a patient." He hedged, not wanting to admit to Illusion's creator where he'd received them.

     "I sent them." Illusion said, casually slipping into the seat beside where Nightbringer stood.

     Ratchet's cheek plates went very blue.

     "Have you bothered to tell the poor mech what your little gifts mean, Illusion?" Nightbringer said, laughter in his optics, if not his tone.

     Ratchet's optics widened. "You - knew?" He asked in astonishment.

     "Oh so you did know!" Illusion said, delightedly.

     "Only for the past two cycles." Ratchet said hurriedly. "I - erh - researched it."

     Both nobles grinned at him and he unconsciously stepped back. "So just to be sure, what you found told you that it's a courtship ritual?" Illusion said.

     "Yes." Ratchet hesitated. "Is that really what you meant by it?" He asked, puzzled.

     She tilted her helm. "Yes.  What else would I mean?"

     "Why would you . . ." His voice trailed off.  At her questioning look he spread his hands. "Why would you court _me_?  I'm a commoner, for one thing.  I'm a grumpy doctor with a terrible bedside manner and all of a house and a job to my name, what do you want with me?  You're a noble, you're polite, you're sweet, we have nothing in common!" He threw up his hands, going furiously blue when he realized Nightbringer was standing aside with a faint smirk.

     Illusion laughed at him. "Nothing in common?  Ratchet!  You're honest, you're kind, you're caring, and gentle!  And maybe a little grumpy, but at least you're honest about it." She graced him with another one of those warm smiles. "You're a good mech, Ratchet.  Unlike most of the ones that live in these walls." She gestured around her.

     "But . . ." Ratchet trailed off.

     Nightbringer suddenly clapped to get their attention. "Do you return her feelings or not?" He asked bluntly.

     "N-Yes." Ratchet almost lied, balking in the presence of an older noble, even one as obviously used as this one.

     "Well, then it's settled." Nightbringer said briskly. "You two do whatever it is you want to do.  You share the feelings, so court!  See what happens.  If it doesn't pan out, then you'll both heal.  Though you can rest assured that if I find out either of you are putting the other on, I have connections.  I will make your life living Pit.  In the meantime, you two just see if you can make this work.  And don't worry about Glam or Semblance, little one." His faceplate hardened slightly. "I'll handle them."

     "That's what got you hurt in the first place." Illusion suddenly argued. "Covering for me."

     Nightbringer waved a hand. "Please.  If I'd really needed to stop him I could have.  It was easier to let it happen.  He'll come crawling to my door in a cycle or two apologizing, he always does.  And you," He turned to Ratchet and pointed at him. "Don't worry about a thing from the nobles.  I approve it and I will make slagging well sure no one gets in the way.  What happens next is up to the two of you." He swept out of the room.  At some point he must have picked up his datapad, because it disappeared too.

     Ratchet stood still, optics wide, shocked into silence.  A stiff breeze could have knocked him over.

     Illusion giggled at his expression. "Seems to me like you could use some time to process." She observed, and stood up, giving him a little peck on the cheek that shocked him even more.  She smiled broadly. "Write me." She left.

     It was nearly five breems before Ratchet could bring himself to move.  He went straight home to break out the high grade.  Ironhide just regarded the whole thing with amusement and didn't bother to ask; "Yer obviously in no fit state to explain."


	15. Ratchet Reacts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ironhide reaches Level 4 Friend and unlocks Ratchet's Tragic Backstory™.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know how I wrote some angst and gave you a mildly funny awkward Ratchet to make up for it, and how you thought it'd fade into more comedy again?  
> Sorry, my lovelies. This author IS the angst train. Chapter may make some tear up. I have no regrets.

     "Ah put some a that overcharge additive in it.  Drink up." Ironhide said gruffly, pressing the low-grade cube into Ratchet's hand as his friend groaned and sat up, holding his helm as though it hurt like crazy. "Y'alright there?"

     Ratchet pointed a shaky finger in his general direction, barely keeping his cube stable with the other hand. "Stop.  Talking." He whispered.

     Ironhide smirked a little and sat back to wait.  Bots tended to underestimate him, even Ratchet, but when something had his focus, he missed almost nothing.  Ratchet was his focus right now.  As the cube was slowly drained, Ratchet, even more slowly, began to steady.  His physical pain faded and his bleary optic expression cleared, indicating a clearer processor as well.  At that point, Ironhide spoke again. "Ya wanna tell me what got ya all worked up?"

     Ratchet winced, but maybe not, this time, from physical pain.  He seemed reluctant to reply, but Ironhide shifted to settle more comfortably in the chair, sending a clear message; _I'll wait_.  Any fight left in Ratchet's frame drained and he gave a deep outtake. "I spoke to Illusion, as you suggested.  Actually," He cleared his intakes, wincing again and not looking up, "She and . . . her, ah, Creatrix brought it up."

     "Creatrix?" Ironhide asked, optic ridges furrowing.  He'd never heard the term before.

     "A more polite form of 'carrier'." Ratchet explained, barely seeming to notice as he rattled it off. "Oh, she's courting me.  And just as you said I stumbled through admitting the truth.  To her Creatrix." He grimaced, rubbing his face. "That would have been bad enough, but a little embarrassment's easy to slip past.  Evidently he's been encouraging all this, even helping, and . . ." He stopped again.

     Ironhide tilted his helm, noting how Ratchet's optic ridges furrowed and his frame began to tense. "Ratch'?" He asked warily.

     "I treated him." Ratchet said tightly, optics darkening, cables tightening. "Oh, no." He suddenly surged to his feet, slamming his empty cube on the berthside table, storming into the open floor and clenching his fists. "Semblance - oh, holy Primus, what a fragging _glitch_.  Rape and abuse are bad enough but what kind of absolute _monster_ would inflict that on their _Conjunx_ as some twisted _punishment_?!  No wonder his daughter wants away from him!  Who _does_ that?  And the scars all over his back - ooh, this can't have been the first time - unbelievable!"

     Ironhide watched with optic ridges high in surprise, staring as Ratchet paced, ranting and gesturing wildly.  At the last word he slammed his hand into the wall and the fight seemed to fade somewhat. "Ratch'?" He asked as silence fell, though the tension hadn't faded and the other's field still snapped furiously.

     Ratchet turned to face him, shaking his head. "I wonder if I could convince the police to arrest him.  Or better yet, directions to an assassin who will murder him for me.  _No one_ deserves that kind of treatment, _especially_ from their _Conjunx_."

     So Illusion's sire abused her carrier, Ironhide gathered; rape and beatings.  Such treatment would be nothing new for a slave - though he personally had never suffered the first - but here on the surface, particularly in the gilded world Ratchet described for the nobility, he'd come to understand these were regarded as barbaric and cruel.  He maintained his silence and just watched as Ratchet pursed his mouth plates, obviously trying to plot some way to stop Semblance, or at least rescue the Conjunx and Illusion.

     Finally Ratchet huffed, frustration and helplessness overtaking his field and expression, sinking back into a seated position on the berth.  He rested his helm in one hand. "I can't believe a mech would do such a thing." He repeated, clenching one fist in frustration.

     Ironhide resettled himself, optic ridges furrowing. "D'you know how it happened?  Ah mean, how they got in this situation." He clarified.

     Ratchet shook his head, becoming aware he'd left his helm on all lunar cycle as he recharged.  The sensory wires that connected it would be Pit to untangle.  He grimaced. "It doesn't matter." He said, calming despite himself; there was nothing he could do for the moment. "Sometimes a mech can do everything right, and still end up in a bad situation.  It's not his fault.  Accidents happen.  Monsters like Semblance exist and there's nothing we can do about it."

     Something had flickered in Ratchet's optics, a more personal pain leaking into his field.  His shoulders flexed, in a way Ironhide had seen no one else's do; he recognized it as despair in Ratchet. "It ain't just . . . this mech y'ain't named, that's botherin' ya, is it?" He asked keenly.

     Instead of denying it, Ratchet just dropped his helm in his hands again. "No," He admitted. "It's not.  Nightbringer has clearly been through so much - and far more than Illusion knows, I think - and he can't leave.  I can't imagine what that must feel like.  When . . ." And he grimaced, optics shuttering, as though fighting back tears, as the pain in his field intensified.

     Ironhide let him be silent for a moment before reaching over to put a hand on his friend's shoulder, gripping it reassuringly. "When what?" He asked quietly.

     Ratchet dropped his hands, but left his gaze fixed on a spot on the floor. "I'm . . . not from Iacon.  I come from Praxus, I'm sure you've heard of it by now.  Not just come from." He grimaced again but pushed on. "I _am_ Praxian, by cybernetic code and frame.  And I miss it, sometimes.  But when I lost my door wings . . . it was almost as if I'd lost everything at once, and I fled.  I came here, and built a new life.  If I hadn't been able to leave it behind, I don't . . ." Clear coolant dripped from his optics as he shuttered them tightly again. "I don't know that I could have made it, much less stayed so strong."

     He'd once had door wings?  Ironhide ran his gaze over his friend's frame again.  It seemed so natural.  And the few Seeker hybrids he'd worked with had been very accommodating with teaching them all about wings.  Door wings must be almost as important.  To lose them . . . He shook his head silently. "Sounds to me like you didn't leave anything behind, Ratchet." He said, as gently as he could.

     Ratchet's intakes gave a choke that might have been a sob as he wiped the coolant away from his face. "Maybe you're right."

     Ironhide watched him for a breem in silence.  He was crying; he'd never seen Ratchet cry.  It had been almost a planetary cycle since Ratchet had taken him in, but he'd never seen the mech so dejected.  He couldn't seem to stop the tears, though they came quietly and his intakes rushed not much louder than normal.  But his optic ridges were furrowed and his field so thick with emotion that Ironhide felt the need to pull his own closer to avoid sinking into the same depression. "Ya wanna talk about it?" He prompted finally.  Kup had advised this.

     But Ratchet had looked at the clock on the wall and groaned again. "We're both late for work."

     "I called in to both our managers, Ratch'.  Tol' yours you were too sick to even call, Pharma said to make sure ya stay home if I have ta lock ya up.  Tol' Kup I'd be late, on account of it, and he said to not bother comin'." Ironhide informed him. "So, that said." He let it sink in for a moment. "Ya wanna talk about it?"

     Ratchet looked over at him, faceplate still coolant-stained, optic ridges furrowed, helm tilted, and frown still too deep.  Whatever he was thinking, he didn't say it.  He looked away again a moment later, fixing his optics again on the floor. "I was a young adult, just breaking into a good, successful career as a doctor in one of the best hospitals in Praxus.  One of the older doctors was considering opening a practice with me.  I had my social circle, a few good friends.  One night, we'd just received the ownership of a practice.  We'd have to update it and clear it, but otherwise, we were home free.  I had just . . ." He choked up again, and paused.

     Ironhide didn't press the issue.  Something about this was very hard for Ratchet, and he couldn't help the worry that darkened his field.

     His friend didn't seem to notice. "I had just." He swallowed hard. "I had finally, gained the courage . . . to ask - to ask Directrix to be my mate.  He said yes.  We . . . we went out . . . just for a drive, with some friends.  A celebratory night out drinking.  Retrograde was our designated guide.  My best friend in the world.  I'd known him since we were sparklings." He covered his face and cycled hard for a breem.  His vocalizer was laced with static and his shoulders heaved in a silent sob. "We'd done everything right." He said, voice cracking with despair. "We were careful.  We hadn't even gotten to the tavern yet.  We stopped to let the other lane pass and . . ." He broke off again, sobbing.

     Ironhide wasn't entirely sure how to handle it.  He awkwardly moved to sit beside the other mech, sensing in his field a need for closeness.  He settled his arm around Ratchet's shoulders as he'd seen Kup do for young mechs at the job site.  He didn't speak, just let him cry.  To his surprise, Ratchet leaned on him somewhat, shaking visibly.

     After a few breems Ratchet steadied enough to continue in a whisper so low Ironhide had to turn up his audio receptors to hear it. "This . . . Polyhexian . . . tore around the corner.  He . . . I found out, after . . . he was on some sort of drug, driving from the Enforcers . . . He slammed into us.  Went spinning . . ." His optics were shuttered tightly and another sob wracked his frame. "I blacked out when he hit my door wings.  I was standing up . . . he broke them, and crushed my back.  I woke up in the hospital - nearly a vorn later.  Directrix . . . Retrograde . . . both dead.  The others injured, but functioning.  And I had lost my wings.  They couldn't replace them.  The damage to my back . . . and suddenly, everything fell apart.  I didn't . . . I didn't even get to see their rites done.  The practice opened without me, with someone I can't even recall the name of.  My sire had passed on.  My friends drifted apart in our absence.  Everything was like a broken shell, and my own people didn't recognize me without my wings.  My creatrix . . . was all that was keeping me there.  And then . . . she told me to go.  She didn't - she didn't like what it was doing to me.  So . . ." He gave a heaving outtake. "I left."

     "An' you came here." Ironhide finished softly, piecing it together from the previous, more broken sentences. "To start over.  Like Ah did." He added that meaningfully.

     Ratchet straightened, pulling away a bit, with a bitterly amused huff. "I'm sorry, Ironhide.  What . . . What I went through is nothing compared to . . ." He rested a hand on Ironhide's bad knee. "To you, or even Nightbringer."

     "Ah think maybe it is." Ironhide said quietly. "Ah grew up that way . . . didn' know any better.  Y'all seem so horrified, but we just . . ." He shrugged, unsure how to articulate it. "It just is.  So it didn't hit me so hard.  An' Nightbringer - who knows what that situation is?  Mebbe he's got reasons for toleratin' it, fer stayin'.  But mech . . ." He huffed himself in frustration. "Ah ran too.  Ah could've gone back.  Tried t' keep helpin' those I could down there.  But I ran away.  It hurt, too much.  Ah don't . . . Ah don't really see the difference.  You lost a lot more than Ah ever had.  Pit, ya lost a part of yaself."

     The white mech turned to him with the same look from before, the puzzlement mixed with grief. "Thank you." He said gruffly, and then snorted. "At my age, one would think I wouldn't need validation.  But . . . thank you." He gripped Ironhide's shoulder in return, leaning on him for a moment in a Praxian gesture of affection.  He thought of Nightbringer and a surge of anger at Semblance came back. "Oh, that mech will pay." He muttered.

     Ironhide gave a gruff chuckle. "Ya sound okay."

     "I doubt I'll ever be completely fine again, but . . . 'okay' seems like a good definition." Ratchet replied with a weak smile.

     "Think about it, mech.  Yer movin' on from before.  Ya jus' found out yer sweetspark wants you back.  Ya helped a mech in a bad situation, an' got his permission t' court his daughter.  Ya got plenty to live on an' help supportin' yerself.  Ah'd say yer life's lookin' up." Ironhide clapped his shoulder, weakly from the angle, given his arm was already over the other mech.

     Ratchet's smile gained a little strength. "You know what, Ironhide?  You're right."

     Ironhide sat in puzzlement, confusion rippling through his field, as Ratchet . . . put both arms around him, pressed against him.  He left his own arms awkwardly out, then rested them just as awkwardly on Ratchet's back as Ratchet . . . squeezed him? "Uh, Ratch'?  Why're you squeezin' me with yer whole frame here?"

     A chuckle vibrated through Ratchet's frame and field. "It's a hug, Ironhide.  It's called a hug." He pulled away and stood. "Mostly Praxians and Seekers do it, with their loved ones."

     A smile broke across Ironhide's face, returned by his friend, as he stood up as well and clapped a hand on Ratchet's shoulder. "Let's go get some real breakfast, yeah?" He changed the subject.

     "Always hungry, aren't you?"

     "You try starvin' yer whole growin' cycle an' see how satisfied _you_ are."

     The banter continued as they went on to fix their energon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My insincere apologies for the angst. Look at it this way, if you pay attention, you finally got an explanation in this fic as to why in some of the G1 prewar flashbacks, you could see bots with "hair".
> 
> Also, in this verse, all native Cybertronians (save certain mutations) are hermaphrodites, which means their concept of "sexuality" (as in, straight, gay, pan, bi, etc.) is much looser and probably generally fits in pansexuality. Hence Directrix/Ratchet followed by Illusion/Ratchet. Colony planets like Caminus have developed the male/female distinction as the norm. As Velocitron is a sort of highway for many different planets, the native population is about 50/50 on that. 
> 
> Mech is used as the standard for hermaphrodites except on Caminus, where femme is used instead.
> 
> The gender difference between mech and femme is based entirely on outer kibble and characteristics of the voice and energy field, not roles in reproduction. In this way even the hermaphrodites of Cybertron have gender distinctions (in accordance with G1 canon).


	16. Nobles and Slaves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Illusion finally meets Ironhide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Groon = equivalent of a week
> 
> You guys remember Red Tape the caution yellow mech? Yeah I hoped so.

     _Clang-clash-clang-crash_

     "So this is where you've been taking classes," Ratchet said dryly as he watched Ironhide pick himself up after having been knocked effortlessly down by a faded green mech.

     Ironhide's optic ridges jumped up and he turned in surprise. "Ratchet!  What're you doin' here?" He asked.

     Ratchet shrugged. "I offer my services in a number of locations around the city, including Red Tape's dojo here.  He called me earlier to say he had a mech who could use a medical once-over just in case, as he'd hit his helm pretty hard.  I came in through the service entry; decided to come see if anyone else needed a patch before I left." He chuckled. "Looks like you just might."

     Red Tape chuckled as he joined the doctor in the doorway. "Oh, don't worry, Ratchet.  Kup's always careful with his rookies," He assured. "I'm more worried about my swordsbots in there." He tilted his head toward another closed door. "Nobility, most of them, and several not too careful ones.  They're just lucky I don't allow them to use their own blades."

     "That's Ratchet, is it, then?" Kup commented, clapping Ironhide on the shoulder. "Nice t' meet ya, mech.  'Hide's mentioned ya."

     "Oh?" Ratchet prompted, arching an optic ridge at Ironhide.

     The red mech laughed easily. "All good, Ratch' - 'cept for that one mornin' with the hangover," He teased.

     "Cool off a breem," Kup told him as he moved to the side of the room to get a mesh rag and some coolant.  He tossed another rag to Ironhide, who caught it easily and used it to wipe some of the condensation off his frame. "Yeah, 'Hide tol' me all about what ya did for him, Ratchet," He continued over his shoulder. "Yer a real good mech.  Our kind've got a rough lot in life.  Helpin' him out like that's a right honorable thing to do.  I'd say even th' old Knights of Cybertron woulda believed in ya; now those were the days, when the Knights walked over Cybertron . . ."

     Ratchet cut off the rambling old mech. "Our kind?" He questioned, acutely aware of Red Tape still beside him, though the yellow mech was relaxed.

     "Oh!  Yeah, Ah was a slave a long time ago, too." Kup said casually. "I was freed by this maniac by the name o' Thunderwing, a right crazy old mech, thought he was an emmissary of Primus an' Unicron themselves.  Oh, but he had some ideas, an' a lotta charisma, an' he turned an Army by these.  Myself I left once I saw how all-out crazy he was-"

     "Aw, now, don't change up yer story, Kup," Ironhide teased, smacking him playfully with his rag. "Ya tol' _me_ ya left after meetin' the Knights of Cybertron.  At least keep yer story straight, ya lyin' ol' coot."

     Kup laughed. "I ain't no liar!  It's been a long time, the files are a little degraded," He defended himself, optics twinkling with humor. "Anyhow, Ah w _as_ a slave, before the last Revolution of Cybertron.  Ah remember when it was called 'the war', an' then, 'the great war'.  Ah remember when the Primes led an Army, guarded and headed by the Knights of Cybertron.  We've made a lotta tech progress, but in a lotta ways, bots are no different than they were back then.  Spark nature doesn't change, I guess, as a whole." He was smiling, but his optics had a different look to them, an aged, wise look, and no one seemed to know how to reply. "Ha!  See what Ah mean, elders ramblin' still makes a bot go silent." He joked, instantly breaking the tension.

     Ratchet shot another glance at Red Tape, daring the yellow mech to comment on Ironhide's background.  Red Tape saw the look and gave a crooked smile. "Ratchet, Kup's been coming here and finding me business almost since I opened the place.  Any friend of his is a friend of mine.  And the same goes for you.  You've both done me right, I'm not about to turn you away."

     _Clash-clang-crash_ Muffled shouting from the next room got their attention and Red Tape darted to throw open the door. "Alright what's going on here!" He roared, plunging the room into silence.

     "A minor dispute," One young - and vaguely familiar - blue mech said tightly, gripping a sword in his hand.

     "Minor dispute!" Sputtered the mech on the ground at his feet. "Oh, certainly, that's what a noble would call it!" He pushed himself to his pedes. "There are _rules of engagement_ , Glam, respect them!"

     Ratchet arched his optic ridges as he recognized the name and studied Glam more carefully. So this was his competition, at least, in Semblance's views.

     The blue mech scoffed. "I hardly touched you." When the other began to argue, he raised his voice. "Do you doubt my honor?  My family is descended from the Knights of Cybertron!"

     "I imagine the Knights would be ashamed of one who depends upon their name and not his own," A femme voice piped up, snarky, bearing the same noble accent.

     The rest of the room shuffled aside, several encouraging "ooh's" being thrown around, to reveal Illusion, bearing a different helm and stronger armor, a sword held naturally in her hand.  Ratchet's optic ridges shot up further and he stared unashamedly at her.  Glam, meanwhile, sputtered, "Depends upon it!  Hardly!  My honor is not in question, except by those with no knowledge of me!"

     "Well then I suppose no one must know you," Illusion was smiling coldly at him and snickers ran through the room.  It was clear that Glam hadn't made himself well-liked by his classmates.

     "Illusion!" His tone was scandalized, but he calmed himself. "My dear lady, I apologize that you had to see this outburst.  You must not truly question my honor; I have sworn fealty to Sentinel Prime, and my devotion to you alone."

     She made a _tsk_ noise. "I have little enough faith in the Prime that it would not cause me grief if he should pass on the Matrix while I live." She said coolly. "And as for your devotion, you must have mistaken me for someone else.  Oh, what was her name?  Featherlight?  Good luck with your Seeker, _my dear lord_ , I'm afraid it shall come to naught." She smiled sweetly at him, twirling her sword.

     The chorus of _ooh_ s was almost deafening, and Glam's silver faceplates were almost as bright blue as his armor as he sputtered. "Illusion!"

     "Alright, children, that's quite enough," another voice said firmly from the side of the room.  Ratchet turned his attention to the speaker and started to see Nightbringer, in similar armor as Illusion, a sword held just as naturally in his hand and his helm off, unusually long, jet-black sensory wires in a braid down his back, nearly to his waist. "Glam, it's bad form to break the rules of engagement and further, to contest a fair loss.  Illusion, it's equally bad form to gloat over a victory.  Back to your sparring partners, please, everyone.  Glam, I'd like a word." He nodded to someone on the benches to join Glam's startled former sparring partner.

     A low whistle from behind Ratchet caused him to glance back and see Kup's gaze fixed on the smoky black mech.  He smacked the green mech's arm. "He's bonded," He hissed, just as low.

     "Not surprised," Kup said, tone at once awed and respectful. "Ain't seen a mech take control like that without shoutin' or liftin' a hand or nothin' since Alpha Trion and Delta Prime took the battlefield on the shores of the Rust Sea."

     Ratchet's optic ridges furrowed in surprise; he'd mistaken Kup as the type to be attracted by sight, mainly.  Clearly with him there was more than meets the eye.  Before he could comment, Red Tape spoke up just as lowly. "Oh, you wouldn't have a chance anyway, Kup, the mech's a noble, Nightbringer by name.  I have an old colleague in Velocitron that used to teach him.  Apparently he was one of the most skilled swordsmechs they had until he bonded and quit.  Made my buddy ecstatic when he heard Nightbringer'd signed up for classes here.  He's the reason I don't have to constantly supervise."

     Kup nodded thoughtfully. "Well.  His Conjunx is a lucky bot."

     Ratchet couldn't stop himself from scoffing.  When all three of his companions looked at him, he shook his head abruptly. "Sorry, I - his daughter, Illusion, is one of my patients.  I, ah, know a bit about their home life.  But if they haven't said anything, it's not really my place."

     "Ratchet?" Illusion's voice said in surprise.  She had disarmed her opponent, red and yellow femme, and cast her a quick smile before sheathing her sword and jogging over. "Hello!  I didn't expect to see you here."

     "I, ah, work here, occasionally." Ratchet said, uncomfortably, as she hugged him abruptly.  He cleared his intake and patted her back awkwardly.

     She snickered at him as she drew back. "What, you thought only Praxians and Seekers hug?" She asked innocently.  He almost flinched when he realized she had noticed, but gave a small smile when he also realized she truly didn't care. "I've got a few breems to cool down.  Who's this?" She nodded behind him.

     Glancing over his shoulder he realized Ironhide was standing close to it, looking as awkward as he felt. "Oh, this is Ironhide.  He's, ehm - a friend.  He's living with me at the moment."

     "Oh?  Well, I'm pleased to meet you, Ironhide," She said with a smile. "Any friend of my favorite physician's a friend of mine.  How do you do?"

     Ironhide opened his mouth and then closed it, looking at her strangely.  Kup nudged him. "Noble's way of sayin' what's up." He explained with a smirk to the red mech. "I'm Kup, by the way." He said, distracting from the explanation. "I'm a friend of Ironhide's, just met Ratchet.  Nice seein' y'all."

     Illusion grinned, seemingly charmed by his accent, though it marked him clearly as far below her status. "Nice to meet you too, Kup.  And I'm sorry, Ironhide, sometimes I forget how ridiculous high-class phrasing really sounds, I'm stuck with it almost all the time.  How are you, is what I meant."

     The red mech gave a crooked smile, seemingly put somewhat at ease by her easy acceptance. "Been a lot better since Ah met Ratchet." He admitted. "He's a good mech.  Ah've heard a lot about you, too.  He's fond of ya."

     Ratchet was relieved to notice that Red Tape had vanished somewhere during the conversation. "Ironhide!" He scolded anyway, as Kup was still there.

     "Aw, don't you worry, Ratch'," Kup told him with an easy grin. "I see that look on her face an' field.  I may be old, but Ah ain't blind.  That femme's got her optic on you an' you better run or hold tight." He clapped him on the shoulder. "Ah ain't gonna judge ya.  Nobody but Primus hisself got that right.  Good luck." He winked at Illusion, grinning widely.

     Ratchet's faceplates were burning and he was sure he'd turned at least vaguely blue. "Thank you, Kup, that's quite enough," He said tightly.

     Nightbringer approached and arched an optic ridge, laying one hand on his daughter's lower back. "Hello, gentlemechs, may I help you?" He said formally, though his expression showed recognition when he looked at Ratchet.

     "Just chatting with Ratchet and a couple of his friends while I cooled off." Illusion said casually. "I'd best get back to work, though.  I'll see you all!" She pressed a kiss to Ratchet's cheek plate and then Nightbringer's before returning to the floor and drawing her sword.

     Nightbringer arched an optic ridge at the other two.

     "Kup," Kup said immediately. "The name's Kup."

     A beat passed, and Ironhide suddenly laughed. "I think that's the shortest time Ah've ever heard you take t' introduce yerself, Kup.  Ah'm Ironhide, a friend of Ratchet's, I live with him, split expenses.  Kup's another friend of mine, met him at work."

     "Kup," Nightbringer repeated. "That name sounds familiar." He looked more closely at the green mech. "Coincidence?  Or would I have heard of you somewhere?"

     "Well, I was a soldier in the last Revolution of Cybertron." Kup said, soon gaining his usual gusto. "You've probably heard something about that.  Ah fought alongside Delta Prime an' the Knights of Cybertron to usher in 'the Golden Age', as bots call it.  Doesn't seem so golden to me, given we've still got mechs like me an' Ironhide here stuck as slaves, but things've changed since Delta passed on the Matrix.  Ah'm maybe the oldest mech planetside save for Alpha Trion, an' nobody but me knows where he came from anyhow."

     Nightbringer recalibrated his optics as the old mech continued on. "Is there no stopping him?" He asked suddenly.

     Ratchet found himself relieved at the lack of reaction to the information that the two had been slaves.

     "Nope," Ironhide said, chuckling. "Short of punchin' him."

     "Don't you raise a hand to me, young mech.  Ah fought a war, remember, an' Ah ain't lost my edge!" Kup threatened playfully. "Speakin' of, though, we should get back t' _your_ trainin'.  Nice meetin' ya, milord." He gave a little half-bow, grinning teasingly.

     Nightbringer actually laughed. "You too." As the other two left he turned to Ratchet and tilted his helm toward Illusion. "By the way, Ratchet.  She needs a new set of gauntlets.  They're not expensive - believe me, I'm forced to operate on a worse allowance than your salary.  Just something to consider.  And thank you," He added. "For your treatment.  I was reluctant, I know, but - thank you."

     "Of . . . course." Ratchet answered, puzzled.

     The smoky black mech nodded to him and returned to the class.  Going over the statement, and his previous interaction with Nightbringer, suddenly his comment about Illusion's gauntlets made sense.  If he was going to court Illusion, he was going to have to start courting back - her way.

     He suddenly wished he was in his office, where he could let his helm fall in his desk.

     Time to go gauntlet-shopping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So y'all on an emotional roller coaster yet? Angst, humor, angst, humor. We'll see how the next chapter goes.
> 
> Bonus points to the reader that finds and comments on the reference to a certain canon slogan.


	17. Well That Escalated Quickly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet has to make an important decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know that emotional rollercoaster, guys? Well, things are looking up. We're almost to the end, and I've got no more big angst trips planned. It'll still be tense, but it won't be angst. Enjoy!
> 
> Please Note: My knowledge of Tadek comes from the very vague sentence it has on the TF Wiki article "Cybertronian Games", so if there is any further canon knowledge of it that I have compromised, my apologies.
> 
> So after continual commentary, suggestions, and talks once we established contact outside AO3, I have decided to add Misukitt as a collaborator. I do the active writing, but as I've been struggling with some of the smaller story arcs within this one, Misu's been an invaluable source of inspiration. Thank you, my dear reader, and now collaborator. *bows*

     "So, ah, Ironhide," Glam said pointedly. "Where are you from, exactly?"

     Ratchet froze, sensing Ironhide stiffen beside him.  The two had been invited up to Illusion's for a group game of Tadek.  Evidently it was a common pastime even with the nobility, among friends.  Glam had entered unexpectedly and invited himself to join the game, in order to "supervise" the two commoners, as Semblance and Nightbringer were "otherwise engaged".

     He'd felt vaguely ill since hearing that, and the comment toward his friend didn't help.  Say what one would about Ironhide, he wouldn't lie - even if it would have made his life easier.

     "The mines." Ironhide answered, deceptively casual but with a clear challenge in his expression. "Th' mines an' the mecha at my job.  I work construction, nowadays."

     "Mines?" Glam's optics sharpened. "Only supervisors work in the mines and they're paid far too well to go back to construction."

     "Supervisors an' a slag-ton of slaves." Ironhide said with a grim smile.

     Horror spread over the noble's expression. "Dear Primus!  Illusion, were you aware that this mech was a _slave_?"

     Illusion frowned coldly. "Yes, I knew he once was.  But he is no longer, he's a mere commoner now, there's no rules about that."

     "You can't possibly trust him," Glam huffed.

     "I do," Ratchet interrupted, tone hard. "I'm the one who paid for his freedom, actually.  I have been with him every step of the way and let me assure you, this mech wouldn't harm a bitfly."

     "Then what was he doing at Red Tape's dojo at our fencing class?" Glam snapped.

     Ironhide sat up straight from his casual position and glared. "Maybe Ah was takin' self-defense classes t' protect myself from bigoted aftports like you, glitch.  See I'd rather not die when somebody who's not all talk decides they don't want me around anymore, an' tries t' take me out.  Y'understand all that or do I gotta repeat myself?  I'll use small words so you can understand, Ah remember what it's like t' not get common speak."

     Inwardly Ratchet battled between applauding the speech and groaning horribly at the insult to an influential bot.

     Glam's optics and field flared with outrage and he stood up, pointing angrily at Ironhide. "Silence," He snapped. "A slave should never be heard to speak.  I'm shocked you were allowed to leave.  I thought euthanasia was the standard procedure for permanently damaged property." He looked critically at Ironhide's leg.

     The red mech suddenly glanced at Ratchet, his expression unreadable.  Ratchet ignored him. "Ironhide is _not_ a slave," and he prayed no one checked the records. "And he is a living spark, not someone's property."

     "Oh, don't bother, Ratchet, Ironhide," Illusion said. "His family is among those that does still keep slaves, as unreasonable as it is.  He's never bothered to notice that slaves aren't the same as drones."

     Glam huffed angrily. "They are not worth the effort," He snapped, "After all, they're meant to serve.  They're below our status - they're _both far_ below our status, Illusion, and while we're on this, how _dare_ this mech, this _commoner_ , try to court you?  Unless you've been _encouraging_ him?  Surely he's not so foolish as to believe you'd sink to such options."

     "I began courting _him_ , Glam, and you may keep your silence on it," Illusion snapped.

     "I will _not_!" Glam snarled.

     "Yes you will!" She cried, surging to her feet as well.

     Ratchet automatically rose as well, ready to place himself between them.

     "Ratchet is a kind, loyal, compassionate mech and you're nothing but a selfish, greedy gold-digger who wants only status!" Illusion continued.

     "What do I need with your status?  You are nothing but a filthy little race-less whore and the only reason I deigned to keep my attentions on you was because Senator Shockwave was impressed by you!" Glam roared.

     Illusion stepped back as if she'd been slapped, and Ratchet saw red.  Shoving the table aside he stamped into Glam's field range and snarled, "That femme is worth twice what you will ever have a _prayer_ of accomplishing!  She has done _nothing_ but show kindness and respect since I met her, and races may be important on Velocitron, but you're on my planet now, glitch, and no one on Cybertron gives a _slag_ how the last race turned out and who was in it.  The Senator of Tarn has no power in Iacon and it's time you learned that his name won't get you anywhere.  She is farther above you than a Princess of Vos and if I _ever_ hear you speak that way to her again I swear I will make your life a living Pit you know why?  Because I'm a doctor, and I have treated bots everywhere, I have _connections_ everywhere, and if I give the word you will never be trusted or respected again do you understand me?"

     The blue mech seemed to shrink under the onslaught, formerly standing a little taller but now with his optics level with Ratchet's.  He gave a wordless snarl and whirled, fleeing the room.

     Ratchet hadn't been expecting that passive an answer.  He remained where he was, fuming, for a breem, slowly calming as dead silence fell on the room.

     "Ratch'?" Ironhide was the first to break it, his tone cautious but not wary. "Y'okay there?"

     No.  No, he wasn't okay.  He had just told off an influential noble of Velocitron, threatened him, for Illusion's sake.  This was . . . life-changing.  He'd been struggling with whether or not to commit to this but clearly, he'd made his decision - and he'd chosen her long ago.

     "Ratchet?" This time it was Illusion who spoke his name, and this time he turned, meeting her strange optics, noticing for the first time that they were a strange shade of silver. "Thank you." She said with a gentle smile. "I've told him off before, but, thank you."

     Ratchet returned the smile, a little shakily. "Of course, Illusion." He stepped toward her and knelt in front of her. "All I did was tell the truth."

     She looked at him more closely as she took his hands. "All of that?" She asked slowly. "Including that I have your protection, even without a bond?"

     "Every word." He promised. "But, if you wanted my spark as well, you only have to ask."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HA!! SORRY NOT SORRY!!


	18. Coping Strategies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet and Illusion come to terms with his proposal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd apologize for taking so long, but I kinda wanted to make you suffer with cliffhanger, and then life decided to hit me with a death an injury and a holiday all at once so I feel myself justified. I should be updating more consistently, definitely every Wednesday, but possibly between if I have a chapter I'm really eager to see up.

     Illusion couldn't quite remember how she'd reacted initially to Ratchet's proposal, only that he'd left shortly after.  She'd given him some sort of confirmation, of that she was sure.  He and Ironhide had been gone for almost half a joor before she shook herself out of her shock and went looking for Nightbringer.  She needed reassurance from her creatrix that she'd made the right choice.

     He wasn't in his own quarters, and as she exited them, she saw both of her creators exit Semblance's.  The taller mech still had his arm around Nightbringer's waist and was murmuring into his audial.  The scene would have been romantic if not for the carefully submissive, small smile on Nightbringer's faceplates.  Semblance didn't seem angry, however, instead seeming inordinately pleased, as he pressed a kiss to Nightbringer's helm and left them with a short nod at Illusion.

     Illusion half-bowed back, darting to her creatrix as soon as he was gone. "Are you alright?" She asked urgently.

     Nightbringer chuckled, allowing his mask to fall, expanding his field to radiate calm. "I'm fine, little one.  As . . . bad as things might be, sometimes he takes it in his head to be gentle.  Taking to berth can be enjoyable when he chooses to make it so.  But enough of that," He waved a hand dismissively, leading her into his suite again. "What has you so excited?"

     "Ratchet proposed to me." She said in a rush as soon as the door was closed. "And I think I said yes."

     Nightbringer's optic ridges shot up. "Slow down, Illusion.  You invited him over for a game of Tadek, how did this happen?"

     Illusion took a deep intake and explained how Glam had invited himself in, how he'd conducted himself, how Ratchet had defended her.  And, of course, his response to her thanks.  The proposal. "I told him yes, I'm sure of it," She said, wringing her hands. "Am I ready for this?  It was so unexpected, just vorns ago I hardly knew him, and how I've consented to become his Conjunx Endura?"

     Her creatrix had remained silent as she spoke, but now he placed a steadying hand over hers. "Illusion.  It sounds as though you've already made your decision." He said gently. "Do you love him?"

     She bit her lower mouthplate. "Yes," She said softly. "Yes.  I love Ratchet."

     "Then if he can prove his devotion through the Ritus I see no reason not to go through with it." Nightbringer said with a small smile.

     "What about Semblance?"

     The smile shifted to . . . almost a smirk. "Leave him to me, little one.  I'll take care of that little problem.  And Glam has no claim on you, so he and Jubilation cannot complain." He assured her.

     Illusion finally smiled back. "Thank you.  I think - I truly think he would do this for me." Seeing Nightbringer's strange, though still smiling, expression, she asked, "What is it?"

     "I'm proud of you, little one.  I love you." He said softly. "Now shoo.  Start planning your Steps.  I cannot help you there."

     Her smile turned almost giddy as she obeyed.

 

* * *

 

 

     Ratchet had returned home and functioned through a shift at the hospital on autopilot.  He knew he had to have performed adequately but he couldn't really recall what had occurred during the shift.  Ironhide, too, must have worked.  But as the doctor collapsed on a bench at home, he recognized the constructor's bulky red frame in the doorway to the kitchen. "Rough day?" Ironhide asked, sounding amused.

     "Rough day?" Ratchet said slowly, his tone dangerously mild. "Rough day.  Oh, perhaps.  I can't remember most of it.  The last thing I remember clearly is possibly the stupidest thing I have ever done."

     Ironhide arched an optic ridge. "Ya been wanderin' around like this since ya bought my codes?  Ah find that hard to believe." He joked.

     Ratchet glared at him. "Don't start, Ironhide.  I proposed to Illusion.  Do you know what that means?  I, a crippled Praxian doctor, proposed to a Velocitronian noble.  It makes no sense.  It's completely foolish.  I should never have crossed that line."

     "Whaddaya mean ya shouldna crossed that line, ya been helm over pedes for the femme for vorns now." Ironhide grinned.

     Ratchet grasped for the nearest small object and ended up throwing a medical wrench at the red mech, hitting him squarely in the forehelm.  Ironhide yelped and rubbed the spot, grumbling irritably as he picked it up.  Ratchet huffed. "I should do that more often.  At least it shut you up.  The point is, Ironhide, this is complete foolishness.  I shouldn't have done it then.  If I was going to propose at all I should have waited!  I did it in the heat of the moment, I lost control, I . . ." He trailed off.

     Ironhide snorted. "Ah don't hear ya denyin' yer in love with the femme.  An' anyway she said yes, it ain't like it's all on you, she coulda said no or ask me later."

     Ratchet stared at him. "She did, didn't she?" He said slowly.

     "Yep." Ironhide agreed, twirling the wrench in one hand. "Ah'd say ya got a clear shot from here.  Ya want her, she wants you, ya done made the proposal aready.  All that's left is t' go on." He grinned again. "Which one a ya d'ya think is movin'?  Do I get to stay?"

     "Ironhide, could you hand me that wrench back?" Ratchet said politely.  As soon as the red mech had done so he rapped him smartly on the helm with it. "Of course you do," He said mildly even as Ironhide grumbled. "And I have no idea."

     "Ain't there more to this, though?" Ironhide prompted. "Y'know, like steps to take?  Some a the bots at work talked about it, kinda vague cause they all knew."

     "Oh yes." Ratchet facepalmed. "There are four Acts in the Conjunx Ritus. The nobles have a different version of it, a more modernized one; The Act of Proposal, the Act of Support, the Act of Devotion, and the Act of Trust.  I've done the Act of Proposal, and she's consented, so that Act is over.  But now we both have parts to play in the other three Acts, in that order.  Usually the Act of Trust is to open one's spark to the other, but it does not need to be."

     Ironhide arched an optic ridge. "Sounds complicated."

     "It is." Ratchet admitted. "But at least the Acts have a clear order.  Support is next.  How the Pit am I going to fulfill an Act of Support for a noble femme?" He threw up his hands.

     "You'll think of somethin'.  Her life ain't easy, for all she's a noble.  Can't be that hard to find an open way to support her.  That's really what ya gotta do, right?" Ironhide said.

     An idea occurred to Ratchet and he sat bolt upright.  He looked strangely at Ironhide. "You've become absurdly wise for your age and station.  I don't like it." He said gruffly, though teasing sparked in his optics.

     Ironhide grinned. "Fraid I still got no vocal filter."

     This time he managed to dodge the wrench.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the introduction of Ratchet's infamous wrench-throwing! Can anyone come up with a canon example or is that just pure fanon? Either way it's gold and it's staying.
> 
> Comments on Nightbringer's "enjoyable when he chooses to make it so"? I'm curious what you all thought of that part of his and Semblance's relationship, and how it might mess with Nightbringer's head.


	19. Act of Support

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet and Illusion take the second step of the Conjunx Ritus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys, READ THIS it's important: I did a bit of editing in the "Ratchet Reacts" chapter. There was a slight update to his creators. Info here if you'd rather not reread: his sire passed on but he was raised with a single mom, who ended up telling him to just go because she didn't like what staying in Praxus after his accident was doing to him. This will become relevant later. I also did some mild editing to the endnotes of Chapter 15, to make my meaning clearer (when I reread it even I was confused, so I fixed it).  
> Sorry about that. This happens when I don't finish something before posting, I end up doing editing to backstories later. That should be the last one.

     It was so simple.

    Ironhide was a genius, though Ratchet would never admit it to his faceplates. "Her life ain't easy, for all she's a noble." The red mech had said.  That was it.  He couldn't support her with materials, with gifts or credits, she didn't need anything.  But her home life - there, that was the only place where she was lacking anything.  She lacked trust, she lacked even safety within her own home.

     So it followed that for a Conjunx Ritus-worthy Act of Support, he had to support her in her home life.  He could do nothing to change the Towers - they were the way they were until one of their own decided to change them, or until they fell.  Words would do little to nothing, and therapy would be insulting and perhaps even cause more problems depending on how her sire reacted.

     What he could do was change his own home, to open it to her.  Give her another option, a safe haven.  He had no illusions - heh - that she would take advantage at first.  Being a noble she wouldn't be allowed out of the Towers without chaperonage, and certainly not allowed to stay.  But if she ever needed it, she would have his support - and that was the point of the Act, wasn't it?

     Ratchet stood back and observed his handiwork.  He'd finally cleaned out and redone his second guest room, the one with windows.  It had needed a new coat of paint, and the understated light gray he'd used for the rest of the house had been out of stock, so it was silver with an almost glittering quality.  Oddly like her strange optics, actually.  He was itching to run deeper scans and find out why they were like that - no, not now, focus, he reminded himself.   He'd moved the berth so that it was perpendicular to the biggest window, but on the opposite wall.  The floor formed a kind of curve around it.  It had a shelf stocked with books, another shelf with his modest crystals.  He couldn't keep them in any other room effectively.  A few more small shelves, most of them empty for personalization.  The place looked good, if a bit bare.

     And the one, final thing.  Possibly the most important update he had done.

     He'd changed the lock from a privacy lock to a true lock.  There was only one keycard.  He would be giving it to Illusion when he met with her over lunch today.  He would have termed it a date except for the fact that since Illusion needed a chaperone, Nightbringer would be there.

     If he was being honest it wouldn't be surprising if Ironhide showed up as well.

     With a deep outtake he rubbed his chevron absently and checked his internal chronometer.  He'd finished at the perfect moment.  If he left now he would arrive just in time to meet her at Spiceturn's.

 

     As he'd predicted, right on time.  He transformed at the entrance just as the two slender racing models did from the other direction.  Illusion's faceplates lit up when she saw him and she took a step toward him before glancing at Nightbringer, who just nodded with an affectionate smile.  The white femme darted over to hug him; Ratchet returned it without hesitation this time.  After all, they'd passed class boundaries a while back.  He grinned when she pulled away.

     "Well good afternoon, Illusion," he said warmly.

     "Oh don't be so formal, I get enough of that in the Towers," Illusion dismissed. "Hello, Ratchet."

     Ratchet smiled again, offering her his arm.  She took it and they ventured inside.  The place wasn't a high-class restaurant, in fact was actually a bakery, though like most places they served some limited energon options.  But it was simultaneously spotless and homey, one of Ratchet's favorite places of peace, as it was quiet enough to be comfortable but with music playing loud enough that conversations weren't easy to eavesdrop upon.

     A lightly spoken "Charming," from behind them reminded him of Nightbringer's presence.

    Pausing before they found a table, Ratchet turned to him. "Sorry, about that, Nightbringer, hello." He greeted awkwardly. "Would you, erh, like to have input on . . ."

    "Input?  Dear Primus, boy, must I do everything for you?" Nightbringer arched an optic ridge at him. "I am here to watch her.  No one said I had to listen.  I don't need to sit with you, nor do I desire to." Then his Towers superiority fell and he gave a little smile. "Today is for you two." He said kindly. "Now go find your own table.  I'll do for myself.  Have fun."

     Ratchet could have sworn he winked before sauntering away.  Illusion giggled on his arm and he shot her a skeptical look. "Is he always like that?" He asked.

     "Whenever the Dominants of his generation aren't around, and sometimes when they are, so long as it isn't Semblance." She said with a smirk.

     "Dominants?" There was a niggling memory in his processor of this concept, but it was evading him.  He invited her to sit down, careful to choose a table within easy sight of Nightbringer's corner.

     She bit her lip. "Ah . . . normal, mecha, I suppose.  Physically.  Submissive bots like femmes and . . . certain mechs are expected to submit to their dominant family members' will." She gave a little smirk. "Part of why I'm so rebellious, I suppose.  I don't like that system."

     "I can see why," Ratchet said, memories of Nightbringer's injuries, his and Illusion's behavior around Semblance, in the back of his processor.

     The owner of the place, a light gray mech with stripes of red and green and friendly blue optics, approached to take their orders. "Hey, Ratchet." He said with an easy smile, putting a fist on his hip. "Welcome back.  What can I get for you and your lady friend?"

     Ratchet coughed, while smiling, normally uncomfortable with the attention but knowing it was really just friendliness and even encouragement. "Hello, Spiceturn.  Ah, a cube of standard with iron shavings, please.  Illusion?"

     "Why don't you order for me?" Illusion said. "I wouldn't know what to get.  I've never been here before."

     He would be so annoyed with anyone else but she shot him a winning smile and Ratchet couldn't be irritated with her.  He gave a crooked smile. "Ah, high grade with rust shavings, for my Velocitronian Chosen here."

     Spiceturn's optic ridges shot up at the word 'Chosen', but he smiled. "Coming right up." He tapped Ratchet's shoulder playfully. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever settle down." He teased before strolling back up to the front.

     Ratchet coughed again, uncomfortable under Illusion's gaze after that comment. "So." He said awkwardly, changing the subject to . . . what, exactly?  Could he lead with the keycard?  Seemed a little too early for that. "How are you?" Primus, he wasn't meant for small talk.  Leave that to mechs like Kup and Ironhide who wove stories out of midair, he was too much a Praxian Professional™, he didn't know how to do this!

     Fortunately, Illusion was much more well-versed in the art of small talk than he. "I'm wonderful," She replied with the sweet little smile he'd grown to love. "I just graduated to the next class in my swordsmanship training, so I'm rather excited about that!  The only downside is Carrier won't be coming with me; he's still teaching the other class.  But, Glam is still stuck in it." She gave a smug smirk.

     Spiceturn returned with two cubes and a plate balanced on a single tray, which he placed between them, setting the lavender cube toward Illusion and the silvery-blue one toward Ratchet.  The plate contained some of the more expensive energon goodies, each in the shape of a star - or a spark.  He winked at the pair, smiling widely. "My famous oiled goodies, fresh from the oven, for the couple.  It's on the house."

     "How nice of you!" Illusion exclaimed as Ratchet repressed the urge to duck in mild embarrassment that was mixed with affection for the talkative mech.  She nibbled on one before Spiceturn left and added, "Dear Primus, these are the best I've ever tasted!"

     Spiceturn laughed and flapped his mesh at Ratchet's shoulder. "You should bring her here more often!" To Illusion he added, "Thank you!  Do come in more, I'm sure I can spare a few." He winked again and laughed, off to service someone else with his unique brand of service with a smile and far too much talk.

     Ratchet gave an outtake and shot Illusion a crooked smile. "So that's Spiceturn," He said conversationally.  He cleared his intakes. "He likes to talk."

     Illusion laughed. "Ratchet, relax.  He was sweet!"

     "A blessing and a curse," Ratchet replied, but he was still smiling, and, ice broken, they were able to enjoy their energon, goodies, and small-talk.

 

* * *

 

 

     During the small talk, another, bright red and all too familiar, mech arrived.  Ratchet's glare didn't faze him in the slightest; Ironhide just grinned, waved, ordered a high grade and went to find another table.  Ratchet didn't pay attention to where he sat, as it wasn't too close, and Illusion was talking.

     Ironhide paused next to Nightbringer. "Mind if I sit?" He asked.

     Nightbringer arched an optic ridge. "There," He nodded to the seat across from his bench.

     The red mech easily sat down and cast a glance at Ratchet. "So let me make sure Ah got this straight.  You're one of Illusion's creators, and you want them together.  But the other one don't.  Am Ah right?"

     "Yes." Nightbringer set aside his datapad and looked carefully at Ironhide. "And you are Ratchet's roommate, correct?"

     "Yep.  An' I want them together too." Ironhide said, casting him an easy smile.

     Both mechs glanced over at the pair as Illusion giggled and Ratchet fairly choked on his energon laughing at something she'd said. "They are rather perfect together, aren't they?" Nightbringer mused. "Just what are you proposing, ah, Ironhide, correct?"

     "Yep, that's me." Ironhide said, grinning. "Ah'm just sayin' maybe encourage 'em a little if they need it.  Ratch' almost got stuck figgerin' out this whole 'Act of Support' thing.  Figger if they _really_ get stuck, you an' me might lend a hand, is all."

     Nightbringer tilted his helm, and glanced back at his daughter.

     Illusion was laughing now, hand holding Ratchet's over the table as the white mech blushed.  She looked happy - carefree.  He hadn't seen her like this in a long time. "I think that's a wonderful idea, Ironhide." He said sincerely. "They'll be the happier for it, once they are bound."

     "Cute couple," Ironhide agreed.

 

* * *

 

 

      "Actually, I, erh, I have something to give you." Ratchet said, reaching in his subspace and pulling out the keycard.  He held it out for her to inspect. "It's the keycard to a room in my house." He said evenly, optics not leaving her faceplates. "It's the only one, and it's a true lock.  If you ever find yourself in need, you will have my support.  The room is yours."

     Illusion lifted the keycard from his hand, an acceptance, and smiled at him. "Thank you," She said sincerely. "I accept your Support." She subspaced the keycard. "And I have mine planned as well," she added, reaching into her subspace again, "though this wasn't truly how I'd planned to give it.  More appropriate, for us, perhaps, this way." And she held up another keycard, a bigger one, the kind generally used for outside doors on important buildings. "You mentioned to me once how you dreamed of opening a medical practice of your own, but it didn't work out.  I don't know much about medicine, but I do know that this building was recently vacated by a doctor who used it as his general practice.  I Support your dream."

     Ratchet stared at her for a moment in utter shock.  As she began to look nervous, he shook himself, and grasped her wrist gently. "Illusion, you have no idea how much this means to me," He confessed. "Thank you." He took and subspaced the keycard reverently.

    Even Ironhide's ribbing that evening didn't take away from his near-giddiness.  He _knew_ the building after she gave him the address and it was one of the best general practices in Iacon.  Even if the former proprietor took all the equipment, the building itself was already up to code!  And he couldn't take the equipment because he was _retiring_!  Illusion had given him the career opportunity of a lifetime and he wasted no time writing out a resignation notice to the hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nightbringer: *Finally*. OTP  
> Ironhide: About time they made some progress.
> 
> Author's Note: If any of the "business" or "work rules" in this fic seem dubious . . . they're on Cybertron it works there.


	20. Plotting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet and Illusion both struggle with their Act of Devotion, and Nightbringer and Ironhide come to their rescue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AKA Rallusion has trouble and Nightbringer and Ironhide ship them hard.
> 
> Sorry about the wait, guys. Wednesday was hectic and tiring and today, Thursday, I had a lot of research to do and notes to take. On the bright side, I'm doing two chapters this week, partly to make up for that!

    "Illusion, dear spark, what are you doing out here at this hour?" Nightbringer's soft voice roused the young femme from her reverie and she turned to look as her carrier slipped out the door onto the balcony, tugging a black mesh cloak from his shoulders to place around hers.

     Illusion gave him a little smile. "Always fussing over me." She teased gently. "I'm fine, Carrier.  I'm just - trying to make a decision, about my Act of Devotion to Ratchet."

     Nightbringer drew back after fastening the cloak about her, tilting his head. "And that's causing you such worry that you're out here on a balcony on a cold night with no cloak?  This isn't Velocitron, my dear.  It gets colder here, colder than we are built to stand." He smoothed a hand over her cheek plate briefly, tone kind though he scolded her.

      She laughed softly. "You're one to talk, you didn't hesitate to remove yours!"

     He gave a crooked smile. "That's what one does for their sparkling, little one.  You make sacrifices for them.  Now, are you alright?"

     Illusion took a deep cycle and smiled. "Yes, Carrier." She broke away and moved to the edge of the balcony again, leaning on it. "I have plenty of ideas of what would mean devotion to me, what would be enough to prove to a priest.  I'm just trying to find something that would mean as much to him as it would to me, or more.  He cares for so little - his work, Ironhide, me.  You, I believe." Here she smiled over at him again. "He misses Praxus.  More than he wants to let on, I think." Then she gave a little shrug. "I'm sure I'll think of something."

     Nightbringer smiled sadly as his daughter's gaze returned to the stars.  She was ready for this - ready for Ratchet.  He came up behind her and adjusted the cloak around her shoulders. "Come in, dear spark.  I'm sure you will, but for now, get warm, and get some rest.  All right?"

     "All right." She turned to hug him with a little smile.

     "Now why were you out here in the first place?" Nightbringer asked, guiding her back toward the doors.

     Her smile became a little shamefaced. "I just missed watching the stars, that's all.  Do you ever wonder what's out there, beyond the colonies?  What other life is like?  Organic life, silicon life?"

     Nightbringer smiled crookedly. "I did once.  But then, I decided my time was better spent here," He turned her around to face him at the doors and adjusted the cloak again, more busywork than anything, kind optics finding hers. "Looking after you."

     "Thank you." Illusion said quietly. "I love you, Carrier."

     "I love you too, little one.  Now go on inside.  I'll be in in a minute." Nightbringer ushered her through the doors. "Good night, Illusion."

     "Good night," she gave one last look over her shoulder before disappearing to her rooms to recharge.

     Nightbringer's smile faded and he took a deep cycle, running his hands up and down his rapidly cooling arms.  He welcomed the cold air on his face, the starlight illuminating the balcony.  It was a nice change.  He walked out to the edge again, looking up at the stars.

     What he'd told Illusion wasn't entirely true.  He did still look up at the stars and wonder about them, but not about the other life, not anymore.  No, now he wondered about the worlds with no life.  Could they support any?  Could a lone Cybertronian survive out there?  And the considerations had become only stronger as Illusion grew into the capable young adult she was, soon to be bonded away from Glam and this terrible existence forever.

     The door clicking brought him back to himself, and he bowed his head, waiting.  Sure enough, Semblance's voice carried over the balcony. "Nightbringer." The stern tone brooked no argument. "Come inside.  Where's your cloak?  You'll freeze."

     Nightbringer didn't tell him about Illusion, instead simply returning to his Conjunx. "Sorry, my lord.  I must have forgotten it." The lie came easily; Semblance hadn't known exactly where he was going, and hadn't watched him take the cloak.

     The blue mech scoffed. "Come back to berth, my Conjunx.  The night is cold.  Share the warmth, hm?" He wrapped an arm around Nightbringer's shoulders and steered the dark mech into Semblance's quarters, and finally to the berth.

 

* * *

 

    "You okay, Ratch'?" Ironhide asked, several groons after the doctor had exchanged Acts of Support with Illusion.  He'd come home from a new project to find Ratchet sitting dejectedly at the kitchen table, staring out the window.

    Ratchet heaved an outtake and sat back in his chair, turning his gaze to the table. "Just . . . stuck, I suppose.  With Illusion."

    "Trouble decidin' on an Act of Devotion, or whatever it is?" Ironhide asked, coming in and sitting down beside him.

    "A bit.  You see . . ." Ratchet pinched the base of his chevron, outtaking again. "When I was young, I had already decided, on an Act of Devotion.  I was always very close to my carrier, and I had made a deal with her - we even wrote it down, a sort of informal contract between us.  If I ever brought someone to her, introduced them as my lover, then I was serious about them - it was going to be forever, unless they turned me away.  As I grew older and learned about the Conjunx Ritus, I decided that this would be my Act of Devotion, if they wanted to go through with it rather than simply becoming mates.  To bring them to her, to declare by contract, in a way, that I wanted them forever." He shrugged one shoulder. "But Illusion can't possibly travel to Praxus, and even if she could, I have no idea where my carrier is living now.  Rent was steep and without me, at her life-stage . . ." He shook his head.

     Ironhide listened in silence up until that point. "What was her name?" He asked, uncharacteristically quiet.

     Ratchet gave a wry smile. "Infirmary." He snorted softly. "She was a pediatrician - a sparklings' doctor.  I suppose it's no wonder what my profession is.  I nearly grew up in her office, as my sire died when I was so young.  I hardly remember her.  She was orange, I think - the same as my stripes.  That's where the color comes from.  Her name was Sunbright.  I know my carrier loved her - was her sparkmate, that it almost killed her when we lost her."

     "But Infirmary lived." Ironhide rumbled.

     Ratchet nodded, seeming lost in memories. "Yes.  She raised me as best she could - she was renting her space to practice, though, and didn't have enough patients.  Growing up as I looked back I know she must have been shorting herself.  I wanted for nothing; she provided everything I needed and more.  When I was broken, after my accident, she sent me away to make sure I was fixed." He shook his head. "But for all the advantages of Iacon, communication with Praxus is so spotty unless one travels often.  I hope she's alive.  I do want to go back, one day, and I want to see her.  But I don't know for certain."

     Ironhide put an arm over his shoulders and cleared his intakes gruffly, not sure what else to do.  Emotional comfort wasn't really something he knew how to do, at least, not like this.

     His friend shook him off. "Relax, Ironhide.  I'm nostalgic, not depressed.  I'll come up with something." He said, crankily, as he stood up and waved the red mech away from him.

     Ironhide scoffed but didn't protest, instead carefully taking note of Ratchet's words.

 

* * *

 

 

     Several solar cycles later, Nightbringer slipped into a booth in the back of Spiceturn's bakery.  The red mech already sitting there cast him a cheeky grin. "What, alone?" Ironhide teased. "Don't y'all have rules against that?"

     Nightbringer waved a dismissive hand. "I'm a bonded adult, I don't need a chaperone.  Illusion's different.  Now you contacted me?  Ratchet having trouble with his decision?"

     "Yes an' no." Ironhide scratched under the edge of his helm. "He made a decision a long time ago that he don't think is gonna work.  What about Illusion?  Ah notice she ain't made any moves either."

     "She tells me she's just having trouble deciding, that she has many options." Nightbringer said. "What was Ratchet's decision, and why wouldn't it work?"

     Ironhide shifted in his seat. "'Parently, this is where it gets a little complicated.  Back when he lived in Praxus, he was really close to his carrier, y'know?  They had a deal, even wrote it out, that if he ever brought someone to her, as a lover, it'd be forever.  That was gonna be his Act of Devotion.  But communication's spotty these days, an' he don't even know where she lives, if she's alive." He frowned. "He said he's nostalgic, but I'd say he's sad, at least.  He wants to see her again, introduce Illusion to her."

     Nightbringer's optics sparked with an idea. "What was her name, her profession?"

     "Infirmary, a - a sparkling doctor, Ah can't pronounce that right.  Peda-Pedee-" He shook his helm and gave up. "Why?"

     The smoky black mech smirked. "Because with our resources and that information, Illusion might be able to locate and contact her.  And this would be an Act of Devotion that means as much to him as to her, which was a part of her struggle.  If she's alive, we should be able to bring her here, to see him."

     Ironhide grinned. "Yer a fraggin' genius, Nightbringer.  Jus' let Illusion know to keep quiet about the Ritus, okay?  Ah think it'd mean more to him to tell 'er in person, himself.  Plus, that takes care of *his* Act of Devotion.  Two petrorabbits in one strike." He sat back with a smug look.

     Nightbringer wore an equally smug, though perhaps more dignified, smirk. "Good.  Thank you, Ironhide.  I'll talk to Illusion and get the cogs turning.  Just keep Ratchet steady in the meantime."

     The red mech waved at him. "Pit yeah, you jus' worry about your end o' the deal." But he was still grinning, no sting to his words. "Lemme know if somethin' goes wrong?"

     "Of course." Nightbringer nodded as he rose.  He paused at the counter to order two frillow goodies, one blue, one pink, his favorite and Illusion's.  Semblance wouldn't care, and it was the least he could do to pay for his time, as he hadn't taken a cube as Ironhide had done.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would just like to remind everyone that in my verse, Cybertronians define gender as appearance and identity, not roles in reproduction, and are mainly hermaphrodites. Hence why, when referred to in a role of reproduction, Ratchet has a sire, but referred to as bots in their own right, they are both femmes.
> 
> Credit to Misukitt for the names of Ratchet's creators and the term "pink frillow cupcake goodies", which I modified for this chapter.


	21. Act of Devotion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Illusion meets the mom, and Ratchet has the best day of his life since his accident.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important info: Praxian language is binary code beeps. You're welcome.

    Infirmary had just sat down, groaning softly at the ache in her cables, when she heard the ping.  She groaned with new energy, realizing she'd have to go over to the console at her desk, across the room.  As if she needed to stand _more_ after the day she'd had, at daycare with the mixed passel of bitlets she'd been assigned to, full of spoiled or bully sparklings.  Still, it could be a call from the director - she couldn't ignore it, no matter how she'd like to.

     Her limbs protested the movement, but she made it to the chair and tapped the reception button just in time. "Infirmary of Praxus here."

     An unfamiliar face appeared on her screen, a silver frame with delicate white armor, slender - Velocitronian? "Illusion of Velocitron." The young femme replied with a noble accent and a friendly smile. "If you'll hear me out I will make it worth your time.  I can see you're tired and I apologize for interrupting you."

     Well, this was certainly interesting.  A noble who was almost - deferential.  Then again, it wasn't confirmed that the femme was a noble.  She'd introduced herself only by name, no title. "Well, start talking." She said gruffly. "You're right, I am tired, I've had a long day, and the only reason I answered is because I thought you might be my boss.  Who are you and how did you get my comm code?"

     Illusion didn't seem the least thrown by her gruff, almost hostile response. "I apologize if this is a difficult subject, but would you happen to have a son named Ratchet?"

     Infirmary froze, staring at the screen.  It had been planetary cycles since she'd heard from her son, communications being questionable as they were, and having had to move. "Yes," She said warily. "What do you know about him?"

     The younger femme seemed to relaxed a little, and smiled. "I'm a former patient, of his.  He's my primary care doctor now, and we've grown close." She shrugged one shoulder, seeming almost embarrassed. "Another friend of his and I have been worried about him.  He's been a little depressed lately, though things are going well in his career.  He misses you greatly, but he can't leave the city."

     Infirmary sat back in her chair, a little stunned, folding her arms protectively. "I can't leave Praxus either." She said bluntly. "As much as I'd love to see him again, I simply can't take the time off."

     "I can arrange for that." Illusion said firmly. "I can pay for any compensation to your employer as well as anything you need to travel." She paused briefly, pursing her mouth, before adding, almost gently, "Ratchet's done so much for me.  The least I can do is this one thing for him.  And, I hope, for you.  If you need a vacation, consider this it.  I'll contact whoever I need to."

     The Praxian femme twitched her doorwings around the narrow back of the chair, considering. "I'll ping you with my employer's comm code.  He runs a daycare center.  He'll bluster about having no one to replace me, but don't let it throw you.  There are several of my coworkers who are capable of looking after my troupe and there are plenty of young bots perfectly willing to volunteer for the rest."

     Illusion grinned. "Of course, thank you.  Believe me, I'll get you the time off, and arrange for fuel for travel.  Would you prefer to drive yourself or take one of the groundbridges?"

     Infirmary huffed. "I don't trust those things.  I'll drive myself.  And don't you worry about fuel on the route.  If you really want to do something for that, you can pay me back once I get there.  I assume you live in Iacon too."

     "Yes," Illusion said with a gracious smile. "I'll comm you tomorrow with the arrangements.  How does half a joor after this time sound?"

     "Much better." Infirmary replied.  They both signed off and she huffed to herself.  An all expenses paid visit to Iacon just to see her son?  It sounded to good to be true.  In fact, it probably was.  She resigned herself to false hope and wearily rose to refuel before bed.

 

* * *

 

 

     Clearly Infirmary had underestimated this young femme.  The comm call came the next day as promised, with Illusion seeming very pleased with herself - and probably explaining her boss' foul temper that afternoon - and informed her that she'd been given time off for a full vorn.  And beyond just time off - _paid leave_.  She packed up what little she needed and was out of Praxus by nightfall.  She wasn't going to miss one minute of time with her son, though she'd requested Illusion not tell him she was coming.  She didn't want to leave him time to hide anything from her as he'd taken to doing since his accident.  Besides, it was nice to surprise her serious, collected son sometimes.

     At the moment, she was pulling up to the gates of Iacon.  The gate guards didn't stop her, but upon entry she recognized Illusion standing off to the side of the road.  She pulled over and transformed. "Illusion of Velocitron?" She checked, arching an optic ridge as two powerfully built pale blue mechs stiffened behind the younger femme.

     Illusion smiled immediately upon seeing her. "Yes, that's me.  Infirmary of Praxus, right?  I'm so glad to meet you.  I'm sorry for the guards.  It's all right, mechs, this is who I came to meet." They both stood down, exchanging a glance and a shrug. "I hope this isn't a problem.  Ratchet was so bitter against nobles when he first came to treat me, I didn't think to ask if you were as well."

     Infirmary snorted. "Ratchet is his own mech." She dismissed. "I thought you were a noble the moment I heard you speak, and few but nobles would manage to arrange this trip.  It makes no difference to me.  Even nobles can get hurt, and anyone with a spark can grow to care for someone." She smiled kindly at the young femme. "Now, where exactly is my son?  I'm in my final life stages and this much driving is hard on an old frame."

     "He's still at home.  As you asked, I didn't tell him you were coming." Illusion said as she began to walk, beckoning Infirmary along. "Would you rather walk or drive?"

     Infirmary scoffed. "Drive.  It's faster.  I'm not on my last struts _yet_ , young lady."

     Illusion laughed, and Infirmary smiled to herself.  Yes, she could see why her son had taken a liking to his young femme.  Though she wondered what had made Illusion so grateful she arranged something of this magnitude?  She didn't ask.  Some things were better left alone; she wouldn't question the gift.

 

* * *

 

 

     When the door pinged, Ironhide was the one who rose to answer it.  Nightbringer and Ratchet were left sitting awkwardly across from one another in the latter's living room.  Nightbringer had informed him that Illusion had been detained, but that she would be dropped off by guards shortly.  They knew well the address Nightbringer had given them and wouldn't need to enter.

     Sure enough, as Ironhide opened the door both guards were driving away, having said farewells to their lady.  Illusion was smiling and beside her stood a solidly built Praxian, a bit smaller than Ratchet, with femme armor kibble.  She bore the same colored lines on her plating, though hers were black, and her wings were a little short and thick.  He grinned - unmistakably Ratchet's carrier, though he'd never seen her. "C'mon in, Ratchet'll wanna see ya." He said, standing aside to welcome them.

     The red mech ushered them through to the living room, where Ratchet still sat with optic ridges furrowed in obvious discomfort, and Nightbringer sat relaxed with his legs crossed, hands atop his knees, with a cat-that-ate-the-cream smirk.  As the three entered Ratchet was talking. "I still don't quite understand why -" He broke off and his optics widened as they landed on Infirmary.

     The Praxian femme had been left speechless.  Ratchet looked healthier than she'd seen him since the accident, plating polished properly for the first time since the death of his mate - for though he hadn't introduced Directrix to her as such she wasn't blind, she'd seen the way they acted.  He looked - happy.  Not the carefree happiness he'd had before, but he would never have that again, and wasn't that a good thing, really?  He wasn't forgetting where he'd come from.

     A moment later Ratchet broke his stillness, leaping to his pedes and rushing to her, wrapping her in the tightest hug he could manage, automatically avoiding her wings.  Infirmary returned it just as tightly, coolant quickly soaking them both as they cried, lapsing into their native Praxian beeps to communicate.

     Ironhide and Illusion edged around them to stand closer to the still-seated Nightbringer.  The trio watched, smiling affectionately, not needing or truly wanting to understand.  This was _their_ reunion, something the three had accomplished for Ratchet and for Infirmary.

     It was a long few breems before the two let go, Ratchet pulling back with a weak smile. "Oh dear, Carrier.  It's so good to see you." Through their confused phrases in their tears he'd picked up that Illusion was responsible for this. "I can hardly believe you're here." He glanced over his shoulder and gave a warm smile to Illusion. "Thank you," He said, voice shaking with emotion.

     Infirmary put a hand on his arm and smiled at him again. "Introduce me to your friends?"

     Ratchet actually grinned back, another thing she hadn't seen since the accident, and it drew an answering grin from her as he backed away.  He clapped a hand on the tall red mech's shoulder. "This is Ironhide," He said. "I suppose you all know by now that this is Infirmary, my carrier.  Ironhide is living with me, splitting expenses.  Beyond that, he's . . ." He glanced at Ironhide and snorted, smirking. "Besides being a blasted annoyance, he's my closest friend."

     Ironhide grinned down at the other mech. "Why, Ratchet, Ah think that's the nicest thing ya ever said about me to mah face!" He teased, earning himself a prompt smack to the back of the helm.  He just grinned unrepentantly. "In all seriousness, though, yer son is the best thing that ever happened to me," He confessed to Infirmary. "Ah was a mining slave, an' when he bought me off the state, gave me as much freedom as he could, well.  I owe him my life."

     Infirmary's expression went from touched and affectionate at their obvious comfortable friendship to surprise at Ironhide's admission.  She turned her gaze to Ratchet and gave a gentle smile. "Well.  Clearly I did _something_ right raising you." She said gruffly, her optics twinkling.

     Ratchet huffed, but couldn't hold back a smile. "This," He changed the subject, stepping closer to the seated black mech. "Is Lord Nightbringer of Velocitron, and currently of the Crystal Gardens.  Illusion's carrier."

     Nightbringer smiled wordlessly.  Infirmary held his gaze a little longer than Ironhide's - the hooded silver optics were hiding something, she could tell.  But there was nothing malicious in him.  She returned the smile crookedly and looked back to her son.

     Ratchet had taken the hands of the white femme who'd brought her here, looking into her optics with a warm smile - a different smile, something more intimate, that Illusion was returning.  He turned back to Infirmary, still holding one of the young femme's hands. "And this," He said, voice a little lower, more serious. "Is Illusion of Velocitron.  My . . . my beloved, my Conjunx Endura in not long."

     Surprise shook Infirmary for only a moment.  With that information all of her questions about Illusion fell into place.  She smiled and stepped forward, taking Illusion's hands from Ratchet's with a smile. "Well, then.  Welcome to the family, young lady." She said.  She pulled Illusion into a hug that was willingly returned. "If my son loves you, then you must be something special." She added, smiling softly, as they pulled apart.

     Illusion's faceplates turned faintly blue, but she smiled back.

     Infirmary turned to look at Nightbringer, reappraising the black mech now.  She gave him another gruff smile. "Lord Nightbringer, eh?"

     "Don't bother with the title, it's bloody annoying." Nightbringer spoke for the first time since she'd entered, as he stood up.

     She scoffed. "Well.  Given that we are so nearly family now, would you step out with me for a moment, carrier to carrier?" She tilted her helm slightly toward the lovers; Ratchet had repositioned himself to stand behind Illusion, a little to the side, one hand on her shoulder.

     The smoky black mech smiled at her with a respectful glint in his optics. "Of course."

     "That means no little audios." Infirmary added on the way out with him.

     Once they were gone, Ironhide spoke up. "I'm gonna . . . go call up - Kup.  We had some scheduling, an', work, stuff." He edged toward the door and was gone before either could reply.

     Illusion giggled. "Does he think he's being subtle?"

     Ratchet didn't reply, and when she turned to look she realized why.  He was looking at her, head tilted to the side, with a sweet little smile on his faceplates. "Thank you," He whispered again. "Thank you.  I don't know how you did this, and I don't want to know.  I can't think of anything that would mean more to me than this has, it's more than worth an Act of Devotion.  I can never tell you how much this means."

     Illusion smiled back at him. "Hearing you introduce me to her, the way you spoke of me, the way she knew just by that . . . it means just as much to me.  Consider it your Act of Devotion."

     The white mech smiled at her and pulled her into a tight hug, which she returned.  He buried his faceplates in her neck cables, shaking slightly, overwhelmed.  Only when he regained control, calmed, did he let her go, and when he did he touched her cheek gently. "May I . . ." He began, whispering.

     "Kiss me?  Yes." Illusion's voice was a note louder, and she was smiling, but a moment later he couldn't see it, instead feeling it as he pressed his mouth to hers.  It wasn't worldshaking, fiery, passionate - instead tender, soft, grateful.  Maybe a little awkward, but neither of them noticed.  Ratchet cupped her helm in his hands and her hands found his shoulders.

     "I love you." Ratchet breathed against her mouth, pulling away a little.

     "I love you too." Illusion whispered back, before kissing him softly again.

     They fell into a soft embrace, exchanging the occasional kisses, just holding on, for several breems before responsibility called Ratchet to make sure his guests - and Ironhide - had refueled.  As they exited, his hand on her lower back, he realized he couldn't stop smiling.

     For once, he didn't try.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BOOM. Finally got around to that first kiss XD


	22. Job Troubles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Board of Directors for Iacon Regional Hospital finds out that Ratchet is having an affair with a patient. They aren't happy, but Illusion isn't having it.

     "Ratchet?" Pharma interrupted him as he was cleaning out his office.

     Ratchet huffed and set the box aside, turning to look at his colleague grumpily. "What _now_?" He asked irritably. "I have all the datawork done, the facility is set up and you've had my notice, nor am I friends with any of you so the only celebration coming of this is celebrating that I'm gone." He gave an amused little smile. "Oh, you thought I didn't know about that?"

     Pharma gave him a flat look. "The Board wants to see you." He said bluntly.

     "Why?" Ratchet demanded, taken aback.

     "Evidently they found out you've been courting a patient." Pharma didn't seem the least bit surprised, despite the phrasing. "They aren't happy with it."

     "I don't even work here anymore, I'm cleaning out my office, what does it matter to them?" Ratchet snapped, quickly regaining his irritation twofold.

     "Bad reputations.  Besides, you're the best here, and you're leaving.  You think they're above blackmailing you to stay?" Pharma replied. "I wouldn't be.  If you leave we're going to lose patients for certain."

     Ratchet froze and his optics widened, staring at his colleague. "You told them.  _You_ did this, didn't you?" He stalked toward the other doctor, gripping a wrench. "You made them think I was taking advantage of her, that I was acting out of line.  What is wrong with you?  What do you gain from this?"

     Pharma backed up as Ratchet advanced, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. "Okay, you're right, I did report it," He said nervously. "But they drew their own conclusions.  I didn't say you were taking advantage, all I told them was that you were courting a patient that's all what are you doing with that wrench?  Ratchet you're not going to need th-"

     He was cut off by a sharp rap on the helm from Ratchet.  He wasn't damaged at all, but he broke off to stare with wide optics.  Ratchet gave him a cold smile and tossed the wrench from hand to hand briefly. "Move." He said flatly.

     Pharma darted out of his way immediately, not saying another word.

     Ratchet marched his way down to the Board's office and punched in his access code without pausing to ping it.  The lock had been broken for vorns - one of the things he kept trying to get them to fix. "What do you want?" He snapped without pausing to take in the scene, a greeting, or being addressed.

     "We called you in to hold a hearing." Said one of the older Board members, frowning deeply at him. "To determine the level of the formal reprimand for taking advantage of a patient."

     His optics blazed, but as the boardmember spoke, the doors had opened again, and before Ratchet could reply there was another voice talking over him. "Taking advantage?" Illusion's familiar voice was overlaid with outrage. "You think _this mech_ is capable of taking advantage of _me_?  No, don't even speak.  I'll deal with you in a moment.  Ratchet, sweetspark, could you -" She gestured aside and touched his arm.

     Ratchet went grudgingly. "They're trying to ruin my career," He hissed as soon as they were out of audio range, speaking lowly. "If I stay, the charges will be dropped but if I leave they'll issue a last-minute formal reprimand that will ruin me."

     Illusion grasped his hands. "There aren't rules about courting willing, able patients, are there?" She asked seriously.

     He shook his head. "No, only abuse of medical power.  It's a fine line that I did not cross."

     "No, no, far from it." She agreed, glancing back at the Board and narrowing her optics.  Then she turned back to him and nodded as if she'd made a decision. "Then Ratchet, please, step outside.  Let me take care of this.  If you reply while you're angry they'll only think you guilty.  Let me handle it.  Since I'm the patient in question I can make all of this go away." She squeezed his hands reassuringly.

     Ratchet gave her a searching look. "Are you sure?  This is my career, I should be defending it."

     She smiled at him. "Trust me, sweetspark."

     He held her gaze for a moment before giving a slow nod.  A little part of him wanted to kiss her for luck - the part that remembered his creators exchanging such kisses whenever Sunbright left.  He contented himself with giving her hands a squeeze for now.  It would work against him to touch her in any way but platonically in front of the Board at the moment. "I trust you," he said quietly, before backing away a step and then leaving the room.

     The door swished shut behind him and he took a deep, slow cycle through his intakes and vents.  She would take care of this.  He had to trust her.  After all they had done, the feelings they'd exchanged, there was no way she would lie about him, sell him out.

     Never one to waste time, he collected himself and returned to his office.  However this turned out, he wasn't staying here.  No matter what he had to do to make a living after this - he couldn't stay and work for these corrupt bureaucrats.  They cared about their credits, not their patients.  He huffed angrily at the mere thought of what they were trying to do - as if his work _here_ were more important than simply serving those who needed it.  Not far from his mind was the niggling fact that he'd been ordered not to bother with repairing Ironhide, as he was 'just a slave' and 'not worth the resources expended for no return'.

     Whatever expression he was wearing, it cleared the halls in front of him rather effectively, as he took only non-emergency halls.  As such it didn't take him long to get back to his office and resume packing.  He refused to think about what was going on in the Boardroom.  He had to stay focused before he lost his temper.

 

     Illusion found him in his office half a joor later, absorbed in what he was doing.  She paused before speaking - the only way she could describe that was packing angrily. "Ratchet?" She thought it best to get his attention before he broke something.

     The mech turned to face her in surprise, which quickly faded to be replaced with concern. "Yes?" He prompted.

     She grinned. "They're dropping all charges, and issuing a formal recommendation instead." She said, sounding very pleased with herself.

     His optics widened and he took a long step toward her, before glancing through the hall and beckoning her inside.  When the door shut behind her he grasped her arms as if to ground himself. "How on Cybertron did you manage that?" He demanded, excitement flooding his field.

     Her grin turned into a smug smirk. "I'm trained as a politician, remember?" She maneuvered her arms away from him and wrapped them around his neck. "How about a thank-you?" She asked, tone turning flirtatious.

     Ratchet grinned, hands going to her hips, and kissed her softly. "Thank you," He said sincerely. "That's twice you've saved my dream, sweetspark.  I can't thank you enough.  If you hadn't fixed that . . . I could've lost everything, not just the dream, my entire career if that had gotten out as the rumor said.  It took a lot of trust for me to walk away from that door." He leaned his helm on hers, shuttering his optics.

     "Act of Trust level?" She asked after a moment.

     Ratchet considered for a moment. "More than," He admitted.

     She smiled up at him. "Well, it wasn't the plan when I came.  I wasn't even thinking about it - you needed help." She shrugged a little and smiled sweetly at him. "But, since it is . . . might as well use it.  We're one step closer." She hugged her arms tighter for a moment.

     Ratchet's arms slid around her waist and held her close. "Just one more step away, love." He said softly, smiling at her. "Take your time.  Trust can be difficult." ' _We're young_ , _there's no hurry_ ' - Directrix's carefree laugh echoed in his mind and he tensed, arms tightening around Illusion and tugging her tight against him to hide the momentary spasm of pain across his expression.  He _would not_ press her, no matter how much his past screamed at him that any day could be anyone's last.  His very _profession_ pointed this out - but no.  He was not going to rush her.  Trust needed to be real, needed to be given, not dragged from.

     "I'm not sure yet what I'll do to show it," Illusion was saying, and he drew his attention back to her. "But I do trust you, Ratchet."

     He smiled crookedly at her. "Thank you." He glanced over his shoulder. "I should finish packing."

     She smiled back. "Can I lend an extra set of hands?" She offered.

     Ratchet glanced at her in surprise, but shrugged. "It wouldn't hurt." He broke away from the embrace and resumed the last bit of packing.  Ironhide and Infirmary would be by shortly to help him transfer the last of his personal supplies - which, to the Board's chagrin, were most of them, as he'd replaced as much of their standard equipment as he could.  Only the files would be left.  In much more disarray than usual, as one final _frag you_ after that little stunt they had pulled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might be convinced to write Illusion's confrontation with the Board in a companion one-shot. Possibly. I didn't really have enough inspiration to make it last and work. If there's more than a couple of requests I'll see what I can do about coming up with it.


	23. Illusion's Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Illusion performs her Act of Trust, and it's nothing like Ratchet would have expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER WARNINGS: References to dom/sub lifestyle - Explicit depiction of heat cycle (not quite the norm) - Specific but nongraphic mentions of past rape
> 
> Reminder: in my verse, time is measured like this  
> Breem: five minutes, used like one  
> Joor: two hours, used like one  
> Cycle: full day (also used to refer to breathing)  
> Solar Cycle: sun half of the day  
> Lunar Cycle: night  
> Groon: Ten days (used as a week)  
> Vorn: Two months (used as one)  
> Planetary Cycle: year  
> It's also useful to remember that Cybertron has a slower orbit and axis rotation than Earth, which means their idea of a solar cycle is longer than Earth's, and their year is significantly longer as well. A Cybertronian groon is probably closer to earth's 2.5 weeks. The time schedules get more in sync after the events of "Deadlock" in TFP and "Predacons Rising" - aka the "Aligned" restoration of Cybertron.

     Two groons after Ratchet's Act of Trust, Illusion woke feeling overheated.  When she sat up groggily it was quickly followed by a feeling of nausea and a cramp in her torso.  These unpleasant sensations, coupled with a mild ache in her processor, left her completely unaware of the shift in the scent of the room.  Instead she did the closest thing to darting to the washracks she could, because while she doubted she'd purge, a wash would make her feel better.

     She recalled about halfway through that she was meant to meet her creators to share their morning refuel, and groaned with new energy.  She finished rinsing off as quickly as she could and rushed to meet them, slowing just before she entered to collect herself.  One guard gave her an encouraging wink while the other gave her a reassuring smile.  She smiled gratefully at them before she entered, her systems still feeling uncomfortable, but not more than she could shunt aside and work through.

     "Good morning, little one." Nightbringer greeted her with a gentle smile.

     "Ah, Illusion." Semblance effortlessly overshadowed his mate just by turning around to face her. "Just in time.  Come, I have a cube ready for you."

     She plastered a smile on, though she had always disliked his brand of Cybertronian rust-iron blend in the energon, and took it.  She noticed him stiffen as she stepped back, and internally tensed.  Her optics flickered to Nightbringer and she tensed further when she saw the flicker of alarm in his expression.

     Semblance stepped after her and grasped her arm. "Hold still, Illusion," He ordered.  He looked at her keenly when she obeyed, cycling specifically through his olfactory systems.  He frowned deeply. "It seems we're too late." He said after a moment. "I know that scent - a heat cycle." He glanced at his Conjunx briefly before returning his attention to Illusion. "You have no choice now," he said firmly. "You _must_ bond with Glam."

     "No!" Illusion wrenched away from him, glaring. "Carrier lasted several heat cycles without a mate!  Why must you pressure me!?" She didn't mention Ratchet; Nightbringer had said to let it lie for now, as Semblance might try to find a way to stop them if they were not already bonded when he was told.

     "And he was _disgraced_ ," Semblance snarled, making Nightbringer flinch at the reminder. "He told you that we were mated later in his life, but did he not tell you the rest?" He added harshly, looming over Illusion, halfway between her and Nightbringer. "I was not his first, so far from it!  The reason we remained so private, why he was hardly seen in public before we left Velocitron, because he'd been with nearly every dominant in the Towers!"

     Illusion's optics went wide and she looked helplessly to Nightbringer, who for once had not managed to hold onto his stoic exterior.  His expression was that of one horrified and ashamed, clenching his hands defensively. "Carrier?" She asked, desperately.

     Semblance wasn't done, and he stepped in the way, blocking them entirely from seeing each other. "This is your heat cycle, Illusion, if you are seen in this state unmated you can be taken without consent and two generations of our family shamed!  You _must_ bond to Glam before this happens - he's the only one interested for now and you can no longer put it off!"

     "But it is already too late for this cycle anyway!" Illusion protested. "It's already begun, he can't -"

     "Nonsense, _we_ were bonded mid-cycle." Semblance snapped, gesturing behind him to Nightbringer. "I will comm Jubilation and Glam and make the arrangements.  You two will need to push through the Ritus quickly, or else -"

     "I am already nearly finished with the Conjunx Ritus _with someone else!_ " Illusion burst out.

     Semblance let his voice fall and he gave her a penetrating look, but seemed to collect himself. "Very well.  Who are they?  And why was I not informed earlier?"

     "Because it's _Ratchet_." She spat at him.

     His anger returned in full force. "The _commoner!_?" However, instead of railing at her, he whirled toward his Conjunx, raising his hand for the first time in the confrontation, as if threatening to strike Nightbringer, though it didn't fall. "You told me you could fix this!" He snarled. "You allowed me to think you had her well-in-hand and that this nonsense had ceased!"

     "Carrier had nothing to do with it!" Illusion protested.

     "Silence!" Semblance roared, turning again so he could see both of them.  He focused in on his Conjunx again. "You _will_ talk sense into her," He growled. "And a second failure will not be tolerated." He stormed from the room.

     Nightbringer passed a hand over his faceplates as Illusion stood where she was, trembling uncertainly. "Come here, little one." There was an uncharacteristic catch in his voice, but she darted to him anyway, hugging him tightly.

     "Carrier, were you . . ." She asked after a minute, weakly.

     "Never mind me, little one." Nightbringer said firmly. "Let's get you back to your suite.  You'll be safe there." She couldn't see his face, her head was on his shoulder, but she felt his embrace tighten. "Whatever you need outside those walls I will fetch." He gave a deep cycle and pulled back enough to see her face, his own intense with concern. "On your heat cycle no court will accept charges of rape because 'heat makes you want it'.  Which - it does, I won't deny that it does, it makes it feel necessary, but it isn't, and as long as you remember that it is easy enough to control.  But no one will be punished for taking advantage of you." He pressed his palm to her cheek. "I don't want you anywhere near these glitches."

     Illusion stepped back, twisting her hands. "I actually - I have a better idea." She said.

 

* * *

 

     Illusion's better idea resulted in the two slipping past Semblance's supervision and down into the city, to arrive at Ratchet's home.  He came to the door looking sour and smelling faintly of cleaning supplies, which meant he'd probably just arrived himself.  As soon as he saw them, however, his faceplates shifted to surprise and then concern. "Illusion!  Come in, come in - what's wrong?" He didn't need to alert anyone else, as Ironhide wasn't home yet and Infirmary was at her hotel.

     She knew she was grimacing. "It's fine, I'll be fine," she began, wanting to put off the explanation.

     Nightbringer cut her off tightly. "She's just started her first heat cycle and she's cramping."

     Understanding overtook Ratchet's expression and he beckoned them into the living room. "Sit, anywhere you're comfortable, I'll be back in a minute with a heating pad.  It should soothe the cramps." He said sympathetically before leaving them.  Nightbringer hovered nearby as Illusion settled on the couch, quickly rejoined by Ratchet, who handed her the pad. "Just settle it over wherever it hurts." He said gently.

     Illusion obeyed, leaning back and shuttering her optics.  Nightbringer ran a hand comfortingly down her arm. "It will get better," He promised. "Easier to cope, with practice."

     She gave him a tight smile. "It must.  I can hardly tell when yours comes."

     Ratchet glanced up at the dark mech in surprise.  He'd known them for over a planetary cycle at this point, and not once noticed Nightbringer's heat.  He'd assumed the older mech was on suppressants.  Nightbringer was giving a resigned cycle, though, and sitting next to her. "That would be because your sire hardly lets me out of his suite when I'm in heat." He said quietly.

     Ratchet looked away to suppress a burst of outrage.  Illusion might not make the connection - for all her intelligence, it wasn't uncommon to refuse to think about one's creators that way.  He himself had always done so.  But for an outsider who knew the situation, it was all too clear what that meant.

     "Ratchet, we came because - because I was hoping I could stay here, in the room you gave me." Illusion said, looking up at him. "I trust you.  I can't stay at the Towers, not safely, they'd . . ." She shrugged helplessly.

     "Of course," Ratchet said firmly when she was finished. "I gave you that keycard for a reason.  Of course you can stay."

     She gave him a warm smile. "Thank you.  May I go look around and see if I need anything, once I feel like standing again?"

     "Illusion, as long as you stay here, you have the run of the place.  The only restrictions I ask of you are not to go into Ironhide's room and to make sure everything is as you found it if you go into mine." Ratchet said gently. "I have nothing to hide, but I do have an organization that I'd be happy to explain if asked, but I'd really like to keep it that way, if you don't mind.  And after so long in the communal living in the mines I feel Ironhide deserves his privacy."

     Illusion nodded her agreement. "Thank you, Ratchet.  You have no idea what this means to me.  The amount of trust it took to come here." She shifted in her seat, uncomfortable. "Most bots - dominants, just, anyone who isn't like us - that I'm familiar with, at least, say that the heat is too much.  That they can't be expected to control themselves."

     Ratchet looked at her steadily. "If a bot can't control themselves in the face of another's heat, then they shouldn't be allowed in public without a leash." He said bluntly.

     She smiled back, but didn't get a chance to continue before he added, "And don't thank me again, Illusion.  It's entirely unnecessary.  You need safety and I can provide it.  Of course I'm going to do what I can."

     She closed her mouth before thanking him again and just smiled.

     Before either could continue, Nightbringer stood. "Ratchet, may I speak to you for a moment?" He said.  Something in his tone made Ratchet follow him as he left the room.  He found himself standing in the kitchen facing his guest, and somehow feeling like he'd utterly lost control of the situation despite being in his own home.

     "What is it, Nightbringer?" He asked politely.

     The dark mech leaned back on the counter and looked down at the table for a minute, cycling steadily. "Rape is legal in the Towers." He said finally, bluntly. "When a bot is in their heat they are considered incapable of saying 'no' and meaning it, which renders all rape charges moot." He looked up at Ratchet with a hard expression. "I had hoped and prayed that Illusion hadn't inherited this.  When she did it broke my spark because I knew what she would go through.  And then she met you, and I hoped - I hoped this wouldn't happen until after you were bonded, after she was safe with you."

     "She is safe with me now," Ratchet said firmly.

     Nightbringer shot him a glare. "That's what Semblance said." He said, deadly soft. "To my creators."

     Ratchet winced. "And you are far from safe." He acknowledged, low.

     "Oh I'm perfectly safe." Nightbringer's tone was bitter. "From everyone and almost everything _else_.  But I'm not the point here.  I'm just an example.  You _know_ it took a lot of trust from Illusion to come here, but did you stop to consider how much trust it's taking for me to leave?" He met Ratchet's gaze. "I know you, I know you love her, but I 'knew' Semblance loved me too and I'm not one of you I don't _know_ what you really feel, not as she does, not as you do.  And I can't, and that's okay, normally, but I am placing her life, her future in your hands." He paused to cycle and shutter his optics.

     "Nightbringer . . ." Ratchet began.

     A hand held up toward him stopped him.  Nightbringer lowered his optics and looked at Ratchet again, steadily. "That little femme in there?  Her safety, her happiness, and her health are the most important things in the universe to me.  And right now, I am handing _all_ of that - over to you.  And you have _no idea_ how that feels, how _difficult_ that is, nor will you ever until the day you have to hand your own sparkling away to someone else to support and care for." He gave a deep cycle, but shook his helm and fell silent.

     Ratchet let the silence reign for a minute before he replied, gently. "I'm sorry it's so difficult for you.  But for what it's worth?  I promise you, she will be safe here.  Ironhide, my carrier, and I, we - we all have more than enough control to ignore the heat.  I would do almost anything for her."

     Nightbringer met his gaze again, a deep frown still in place. "I really hope you mean that." He said softly.

     Ratchet nodded once, but refrained from continuing to reassure the mech.  There was nothing he could do now but act as he'd promised.  And he would.  That alone would reassure Nightbringer he had made the right choice.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Infirmary rented the most expensive hotel she could to frag off her employers. They weren't paying enough or making any necessary improvements to the center when they had plenty of extra currency. So, she decided to put their money to some use other than their own pockets, with the deal Illusion made for her.


	24. Illusion's Trust Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Illusion, Ratchet, and Ironhide cope with her heat cycle, with as much help as possible from Infirmary. Meanwhile in the Towers, things take a dark turn for Nightbringer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: SEMBLANCE'S THREAT IN PREVIOUS CHAPTER IS DEALT WITH IN FINAL SCENE AND I HAVE BEEN INFORMED IT CAN PUSH ANXIETY TRIGGERS. SEE FINAL NOTES FOR SUMMARY OF IMPORTANT INFORMATION IF YOU ARE TRIGGERED BY PHYSICAL ABUSE.  
> Note that helms used are G1; as in they are literally like normal helmets and they have human like heads beneath them. Not the graphic Animated exposed-processor heads.
> 
> Roughly military time used, though as before their days are longer; 1700 is about the equivalent of 5pm.
> 
> Keep in mind that what Illusion is going through is a lot like a period, or an animal's "heat". It's an influx of new hormones that are wreaking havoc with her body, yeah it's like the "heat" of most fics in that it makes interface a prevalent thing for her body because she's very fertile. But it's also hurting her because of the alterations being made to her gestation chamber to account for it. That's why the heat cycle is uncommon among Cybertronians at this point; Nightbringer's line retained it, and a few others, but it's gone fairly well extinct because the increased fertility wasn't enough to account for the pain and incapacitation it causes. It's sometimes considered the marker between young adult life stage (we'd say 18-30), and mature adult life-stage (30-40).

     When Illusion awoke the next morning, she immediately recognized it as being far earlier than she usually did so, and briefly wondered if there was a problem with her internal chronometer.  Another harder cramp informed her it was very much not her chronometer and she couldn't stop herself from whimpering.  She held her hand tightly to her abdomen as she rose.  It took effort not to limp to exit her room and cross the hall to enter the kitchen.

     To her surprise, Ironhide was already up, his back to her as he prepared his energon.  He looked over his shoulder as she entered, and turned to face her sheepishly. "Sorry.  I's tryin' not to wake ya."

     She shook her head, wincing slightly and pressing her hand a little harder into her abdomen. "It wasn't you.  What - what are you doing up so early?"

     He gave her a blank look and then seemed to realize something. "Oh.  I have to get up this early, 'm on the way to work.  Ratchet already left." He gave a helpless shrug. "'S just the way that it is."

     Illusion stared at him for a moment. "So I'm going to be here alone." She said slowly.

     "Well, no, Infirmary said she'd come by, but we didn' expect you to get up before she got here." The scent finally reached him and Ironhide stiffened.

     It didn't take much imagination to figure out what had happened when the red mech broke off and went stiff like that.  Illusion stiffened too, taking a step back, unsure how he'd react.  Hard for them, difficult to keep control, he wasn't family, he wouldn't be immune . . . but he didn't move toward her.  Instead he took on an almost disgusted expression and turned back to his energon as if to hide embarrassment.

     She really could trust them both.  She gave him a shaky smile, though he was refusing to look at her. "Oh." She said, belatedly, to his statement.

     He cleared his intake. "So, uh, why are you up in here?"

     "I was, ah, coming to get the heating pad.  Ratchet said he'd left it warming in the first aid cabinet in here for when I needed it again." She said, awkwardly, stepping over toward the cabinet he'd indicated.

     "Ah." Ironhide edged away from her, finishing his energon. "I'll, uh, leave ya to that then.  She'll be here soon, if ya need her."

     "Thank you." Illusion winced as she had to reach up to pull the heating pad out of the cabinet, but it wasn't overwhelming.  As Nightbringer had said, it was already becoming easier to cope with the pain, and it was hardly overwhelming to begin with.  She turned it on and held it to her abdomen, giving a little exvent of relief. "I'll see you later today?" She said, a little louder, noticing Ironhide edge out the door.

     He nodded quickly. "Yeah, I'll be back around 1700."

     "What about Ratchet?" She asked, taking a step after him as he continued trying to leave.

     Ironhide shrugged. "Dunno.  His hours are weird an' he ain't got a set schedule in the new place yet.  I'm gonna be late if I don't get movin' - Ratchet left ya a note on the table, might explain some of it, I dunno what he said in it."

     "Oh.  Go ahead, then, I'm sorry for keeping you," Illusion said, feeling horribly awkward and out of place.  Ironhide was a production level worker, and Ratchet service-level.  Of course they would have required hours.  She pressed her hand unnecessarily tighter over the heating pad, wondering how shallow she must seem to them as Ironhide's engine faded into traffic outside.

     She picked up Ratchet's note.

> _I'm sorry to leave you like this, Illusion.  Duty calls.  I showed you where everything was yesterday, so don't hesitate to get anything you need.  The heating pad should recharge whenever you're comfortable enough to turn it off.  My creatrix will be by later to see if there's anything you need, and I should be back at around 1500 today._
> 
> _Love, Ratchet_

    Well, she'd known he wasn't a bot of many words.  She put the datapad down, a little reassured by his obvious care and regret.  He didn't think her shallow.  Maybe naive - but then, she was coming to understand that she was.

 

     Infirmary arrived in midmorning and strolled in without pinging - Ratchet had given her the unlock code. "Well, hello, young femme.  You recharge well?" She asked cheerfully, seeing Illusion on the couch.

     "Not really," Illusion admitted. "It aches, the whole system aches."

     Infirmary moved into the room and casually took a seat beside her, ignoring the way the younger femme flinched with surprise and braced herself. "How so?" She asked calmly.  When Illusion didn't answer immediately, still surprised, she added with a little smile, "Ratchet learned half of what he knows from medical school and the sensible half from me.  It's your first heat cycle, so most likely your symptoms will change, but it's good to get in the habit of cataloguing them so you know if something's wrong."

     "I thought - most bots didn't have heat cycles." Illusion said hesitantly.

     Infirmary hummed. "Most grounders don't.  But no matter what the books tell you Praxians have a bit of a heat-like fluctuation too, and we neighbor Vos.  Seeker heats are the _worst_.  They're all nightmarish to deal with if you don't know what you're doing - some even then.  I could tell you stories - if it didn't violate doctor-patient confidentiality." She shrugged. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to.  But," She put a hand on Illusion's shoulder with kind optics, "If you do want to tell me, I might be able to explain to you a little bit about what's going on, so you understand why it feels that way.  It helps some bots to know."

     Illusion considered that for a moment, looking at some point closer to the table.  When the warmth left her shoulder she suddenly looked up, distracted. "W-wait," She stammered. "You don't seem affected."

     The Praxian femme grinned. "I had my interface protocols removed when Ratchet was a youngling.  He needed my focus and it kept me more stable for him.  That said I'm immune to heat cycles - I don't feel the need to interface, so your frame being prepped for it means nothing to me." She waved a hand dismissively.

     Illusion suddenly smiled. "That's a relief, honestly," She admitted. "For all I trust you, all three of you, Ironhide was very awkward this morning trying to ignore it."

     Infirmary chuckled. "Well, in his case the awkwardness was probably less about your heat cycle and more about his history.  From what they've said, I don't believe he's ever interfaced or had a real relationship.  He won't know how to handle the arousal other than to avoid it.  I wouldn't worry about it, you'll both calm down with time."

     "Another relief," Illusion said with a little laugh. "Infirmary?"

     "Yes, dear?"

     "Do I strike you as spoiled?" She didn't give the older femme time to reply before she continued. "It's simply - I woke early this morning from cramps and found that Ratchet had left, and Ironhide in the kitchen preparing to leave for work.  Neither of them will be home until mid or late afternoon.  Up until now my life has been so pampered, with so little real responsibility, and I've been wandering around all morning not sure of what to do with my time."

     Infirmary let her finish and then gave a crooked smile. "Does Ratchet strike you as crippled, Illusion?" She asked gently. "Missing both door wings as he is?"

     "No!" Illusion exclaimed, aghast. "How could you divine _that_?!"

     "It's the same with you." Infirmary said firmly. "You can't change your past, Illusion.  Neither can he.  Now Ratchet has healed.  There's no point in attempting a transplant - his back was so damaged in the crash it was all they could do to get it functional.  But your inexperience with household chores . . ." She smiled with a mischievous glint in her optics. "That can be repaired.  But don't worry about it if your heat makes it hard for now.  It won't be an excuse later, but it being your first time, we'll let it slide." She winked.

     Illusion couldn't help but smile back. "Thank you."

 

     Ratchet came home to find his kitchen spotless and the two femmes chatting on the couch with the news playing in the background - something about a clockmaker.  He paused in the doorway, putting a hand on the doorjamb. "Well, I see you two are getting along well."

     "Oh, hello, Ratchet," Illusion said cheerfully, looking up.

     Infirmary had to lean forward and turn to see him, given his couch was not designed for a door winger.  She smirked at him. "Well, I can certainly see why you love her, my mechling."

     He made a face at her for the nickname, but knew better than to protest.  What bot could effectively argue with their _Creatrix_?  He'd yet to meet one. "Do you mind if I join you?"

     They exchanged glances. "Of course not," Illusion said with a wide smile. "Come hold me?  My back struts ache and Infirmary says it might help to have warmth pressed up against it."

     He shot a brief glare at his mother.  She knew exactly what being pressed up against a femme in heat would do to his systems.  He was more than capable of controlling himself, but that didn't mean it would be pleasant to spend the next who-knew-how-long aroused and trying not to show it. "Of course," He said anyway. "Give me a few minutes to get through the washrack.  I smell like the clinic." He smiled when Illusion nodded and turned to leave.

     "I don't think the little femme minds the smell." Infirmary said innocently from behind him.

     "Creatrix!"

 

* * *

 

 

     Nightbringer hadn't refused direct orders from Semblance for a long time.  It was easier just to do as he said, and keep his defiance subtle - for Illusion, he'd promised himself.  For her, he would obey, he would stay safe, so he could be the one to protect her and raise her.  He would do as his Conjunx desired without protest.  He would be silent about Semblance's affairs.  For Illusion - whatever Semblance asked or demanded.

     When Semblance's guards came to fetch him the day after Illusion "disappeared", he said no for the first time in centuries.  It felt good to refuse, to say aloud what his spark meant, though he knew what would come as a result.  Illusion was safe.  That was all that mattered.

     The guards hadn't known what to do at first, and had left him in peace.  That was shattered when Semblance himself came storming into his quarters.

     He didn't look up at his Conjunx, one last vestige of his submissive facade.  As such, with their shadows behind him, he failed to see Semblance raise his hand.  The blow knocked him out of his seat and sent him sprawling on the floor, datapad clattering out of reach.  His optics were wide with unfeigned surprise as he propped himself up and raised a hand to his cheek plate - his helm had cracked.

     Semblance wasn't finished.  He dragged Nightbringer to his pedes only to rip his helm off, ignoring the yelp he drew as his sensory wires were forcibly disconnected and fell around his shoulders.  The bigger mech's hand tangled in them and yanked, baring Nightbringer's throat and sending intense pain through his head as the wires were yanked, rendering him temporarily motionless.

     "You.  Did.  This." Semblance growled. "You took my daughter - and mated her to a commoner.  Someone who cannot provide the life she was meant for.  And I had such high hopes.  After all you went through, I thought for certain you would ensure she was protected as I protected you."

     Uncharacteristic anger flashed through Nightbringer's spark and he suddenly lashed out with clawlike digits at his Conjunx's optics. "You _raped and manipulated me!_ "

     Semblance gave a roar of pain at the slender digits digging into his optics and threw his smaller mate to the floor again, shaking his helm and blinking and rebooting them furiously. "I gave you safety," He snapped. "Or would you rather any other mech have had you?  It is hardly as if they had no chance!"

     "I gave you my spark and you crushed it," Nightbringer spat, stumbling to his pedes and backing away as the larger mech advanced on him. "I trusted you!" His voice shook. "I trusted you to protect me and you only made it worse!"

     "And I trusted you to protect our sparkling, and now where is she?!" Semblance roared, lunging for him again and shoving him to the ground, coming down on top of him this time, pinning him in place despite his struggles. "Holed up somewhere down in the city with a mech so far beneath her he shouldn't have the privilege of speaking to her by name, and who knows who else with access to her."

     Nightbringer bared his dentae, not disguising the hate in his expression. " _Illusion_ is _safe_.  Which is more than I can say for her had she stayed here!"

     "It is more than can be said for _you_." Semblance snapped harshly. "You will pay for this.  Oh how you will pay for this.  For the rest of our lives you will never take a step without pain.  You have condemned her to a life beneath her, a life of struggle, and you will receive the same."

     The black mech suddenly relaxed, smirking coldly up at him. "I hate you," He said softly. "And with that threat I can hate you for the rest of my lifestream without feeling a shaving of guilt.  _My_ daughter is safe now.  That's all that matters."

     Semblance bared his own dentae in response. "We shall see." He growled darkly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To Misukitt: You're welcome for the reference to your little Whirl.
> 
> To Nightbringer: I am so so sorry.
> 
> Don't worry guys. Two more chapters, and the next one will be nearly all fluff, hopefully with a dash of humor. I'm sorry it took me so long to get this one up. My schedule just shifted and I had a funeral to attend, and I lost my groove here. I should be better for the next two weeks though!
> 
> SUMMARY OF FINAL SCENE: Semblance is furious because Illusion is missing, and chose to physically punish Nightbringer. Nightbringer does not bother to be submissive now that Illusion is safe, so he fights back; you find out that they did not bond willingly, that Semblance raped and manipulated him. Semblance promises to make the abuse continue for the rest of their lives, and you see Nightbringer's defiance again because he no longer cares - he actually smiles at Semblance because he feels that he's won; his daughter is safe.


	25. Conjunx Endura

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rallusion finally completes the Conjunx Ritus, and we get a glimpse of things to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one should be all fluff guys!

     Illusion onlined lazily, comfortably, for the first time in two groons.  Comfortable as she was, she registered soon that she was warmer than usual, and not in her berth.  Dimly onlining her optics, she realized she had fallen into recharge on the couch - but her internal chronometer informed her that she'd slept the night through.  Behind her she felt a slight, regular shift, and she glanced down at herself and over her shoulder.

     Ratchet was behind her on the couch, still recharging, one arm wrapped gently around her waist - probably to keep her from falling down in her recharge.  His back was twisted at an odd angle to accommodate her, but he seemed to be peaceful . . . she had been sitting between his legs when she fell into recharge, and she could still feel the smooth metal of his thighs against hers.  There was no tension in his frame or his field, though she'd known perfectly well what effect her heat-scent had on his systems.

     Another notification popped up in her HUD.

       **Heat Cycle**

> _Status: complete  
>  _

     She gave a grin of relief - so it really was over this time!  She shifted carefully over the bulkier plating of her beloved and turned around to face him, not bothering to move off of his lap.  She touched his shoulder, leaning over to kiss his cheek plate. "Ratchet?  Sweetspark?  I know you need your rest, but your back . . ." That position couldn't be good for anyone, let alone a mech with severe, though healed, damage to his back.

     He onlined quickly, optics turning bright almost immediately, and sitting up, looking a bit surprised as his hands fell automatically to her hips. "Well." He huffed. "Good morning."

     "Good morning." Illusion smiled and leaned in to kiss him briefly - he stiffened a bit at the contact, as always during her cycle, but he let her do as she pleased.  She sat back with a huff of her own. "I got a notification on my HUD this morning." She said, smirking. "My heat cycle is over."

     Ratchet's face lit up. "I knew you were getting close - you feel better now?" Of course that would be where his mind went - her sensations, not his own.  Her spark warmed at the care.

     "Yes," She smiled affectionately. "And, as much as I want to thank you for holding me last lunar cycle, because it really did help me, how are you feeling?  Your back looked so very uncomfortable."

     His expression turned a bit wry as he rolled his shoulder plating. "It was a bit awkward," He admitted. "Give me a moment." He took his hands away from her and scooted as far back on the couch as he could, arching his back forward and raising his arms above his helm, twisting with a grimace to either side until there was a loud _clap_ as something snapped back into place.  He gave a satisfied ventilation and let his hands go back to her plating. "It's nothing I don't do to myself every couple of vorns, sweetspark.  Don't worry about it." He assured her.

     Illusion smiled. "Well, in that case . . ." She leaned forward and kissed him again, nearly gasping into his mouth when he finally, _finally_ responded after two groons of waiting.  She'd missed his soft-sweet kisses, as few as they'd had before her cycle hit.  One of his hands slid up to her back as she wound hers around his neck.

     Ratchet broke the kiss to trail lighter kisses down over her jaw to her sensitive neck.  A deep intake by her vents confirmed what she'd said about her cycle being over.  She gave a soft little cry - she'd never been touched like this.  It made her systems heat like during her cycle, but so different, better, and she suddenly wondered, giddy, if this was how Ironhide had felt when he first caught her heat-scent.  She couldn't focus on Ironhide, though, when her hand brushed the antenna that now extended from Ratchet's back kibble and he hissed against her neck.

     "You like this?" She whispered, intentionally running her fingers over it again.

     Ratchet's gasp this time was definitely one of pleasure. "Very sensitive," He worked out when she stilled her hand. "Sensory information that would normally come from door wings - concentrated in my back kibble."

     Her optics brightened with interest, but Ratchet gave a little smirk and his own digits found her sensitive racing-model tailfin on her shoulders.  She suddenly arched into it with a soft cry of surprise. "Racing models," Ratchet continued in an innocent tone that belied his grin, "Also have very sensitive kibble to help them steer."

     The door slid open and they both froze as Infirmary was silhouetted in it.  The older femme stiffened. "Ratchet!  Illusion!  What exactly do you two think you're doing?  Foreplay is not meant for the couch!  And Ratchet - I'm ashamed of you!  You don't touch a bot in their heat cycle unless they've assured you -"

     "Wait wait, Infirmary," Illusion was laughing, turning in Ratchet's lap, her chosen very blue with embarrassment at being caught and scolded by his _mother_. "My cycle terminated at some point last lunar cycle.  Ratchet hasn't overstepped at all, I promise!"

     "Well," Infirmary huffed, drawing another giggle from Illusion at the similarity between carrier and mech, and a supplicating glance at the floor from Ratchet. "In that case I suppose it's alright.  But not on the couch, come now, sparklets, other mecha have to sit there." She scolded lightly, beckoning Illusion up and off of her son, who groaned as he stood up, stretching his back again.

     Illusion giggled. "Can you give us a minute, Infirmary?" She asked. "I promise, we'll be good."

     Infirmary huffed again, casting a stern glare at an annoyed Ratchet. "All right.  I'll get you two some warmed energon.  Get yourselves into the kitchen before it cools." She left without another word.

     "Illusion?" Ratchet asked, optic ridges furrowing.

     Illusion shut the door and flattened her palms against it, turning to look at him shyly. "Ratchet, do you . . . we've completed all four Acts of the Conjunx Ritus.  All that's left is the ceremony.  We never really spoke of when we would do that."

     Ratchet raised his optic ridges. "All right." He said evenly. "When _do_ you want to do this?"

     "Soon." Illusion said honestly. "Just - soon.  As soon as we can.  If I go back to the Towers unbonded -" She shuddered.

     Ratchet frowned deeply. "Anything you need." He said gently. "There are priests at the Hall of Records who shouldn't be in the employ of anyone at the Towers.  There should be no influence there."

     She smiled at him. "That sounds perfect.  But still - when?"

     He considered for a moment. "You said as soon as possible.  I think we can arrange this in . . . just a few solar cycles.  It needn't take long, after all." He looked at her keenly. "Assuming you want to skip all the pomp and bluster that goes with traditional noble bonding ceremony."

     " _Yes_ ," She said fervently.

     Ratchet gave her a little smile and stepped over to hug her gently, a gesture she returned, leaning on him contentedly. "I love you.  Now let's go tell Creatrix before our energon gets cold, hm?" He guided her to the kitchen.

     Infirmary sniffed. "Just in time." She handed them both cubes. "I won't ask what that was about - lovers' business is no business of the creators.  I will ask this; where did that fall in the Acts?" She sat down across from them. "I never researched the nobles' Conjunx Ritus.  This seems like Intimacy, but you seem far past the first step.  It isn't Disclosure, Proferrance, or Devotion."

     "This was the final Act, the Act of Trust," Illusion said. "And we've both completed it.  We -" She glanced at Ratchet and smiled, almost giddily. "We just decided to have the ceremony completed as soon as possible.  That's all that's left."

     Infirmary's face lit up. "Just in time for me to stay for it!" She cast Ratchet a grin. "I always did want to be there when you bonded, if you used a ceremony."

     Ratchet grunted, but his field betrayed happiness and excitement equal to Illusion's.

* * *

 

     "No." The priest said solemnly, handing the datapad back.

     Ratchet froze, hand on the datapad, as Illusion stiffened beside him. "What?" He asked carefully.

     "No." The priest repeated, more clearly, raising his optic ridges slightly. "Even utilizing the Acts you did - Proposal, Support, Devotion, and Trust - you have failed.  You had to consult others for your Act of Devotion, just friends.  You required help.  The entire purpose is to prove _your own_ devotion to one another -"

     "And if they were devoted enough to ask for such help, to make the Act so meaningful, then why should it not be valid?" An elderly voice interrupted, with a tall, bearded mech seeming almost to materialize from the shadows.  His plating was faded, dominated by blues and purples, with kind blue optics and a calming field. "They valued one another so much that they turned to others to ensure the Act meant as much to their beloved as to them.  If this is not Devotion, I have not seen such in the whole of my - very long - lifestream." He said evenly.

     The priest stiffened. "Alpha Trion," He said pointedly.

     "Xustos." Alpha Trion said with a smile. "Why don't you let me handle this, hmm?  I am certain you have more . . . important . . . things to be doing."

     Xustos bore an expression of conflicting resentment and condescension, and he simply flounced out of sight, back into the corridors.

     Ratchet and Illusion were left speechless.  They had heard of Alpha Trion - the elderly record-keeper was a friend of Kup's, though little else was known of him.  His optics twinkled with a spark of mischief, though he seemed quite the calm, kind sage.

     Unfortunately for Ratchet, Ironhide was not so stunned. "So _you're_ the crazy ol' librarian Kup goes on about," He said.

     Ratchet facepalmed, but Alpha Trion smiled. "Ah, yes.  Kup is one for talk.  You are of his construction crew.  Perhaps the new one he has taken a liking to - Ironhide, is it?  It is a pleasure to meet you." He extended a hand and shook with Ironhide. He looked to Infirmary. "Ah, and the Creatrix of the Healer.  Welcome to Iacon."

     "The name is Infirmary." She said gruffly, obviously unsure of herself around the odd old mech.

     His optics shifted to Nightbringer. "And the shadow.  Hello, Nightbringer."

     The smoky black mech stiffened. "How do you know my name?"

     Alpha Trion just smiled mysteriously. "I know many things.  Bots do not care if one old librarian hears them speak, after all." He returned his attention to Ratchet and Illusion. "And you, Ratchet, and Illusion.  The two lovers, Conjunx-to-be.  Did Kup happen to mention that along with being an Archivist, the Record-Keeper, I am also a registered priest?"

     "No," Ratchet replied, still flabbergasted at how the other priest had given way to him.

     "Yeah," Ironhide said at the same time.  When they all looked at him he shrugged. "What?  Ah work with the mech, Ah listen to his stories all the time.  Alpha Trion's come up a coupla times.  Kup said somethin' about Trion's bein' a priest sometime.  Dunno when exactly."

     Ratchet took a deep cycle, but before he could speak, Alpha Trion had spoken again. "Wonderful.  That being the case . . . do you still desire to bond today, now?  I can do this for you."

     The two lovers exchanged a glance.  There could only be one answer. " _Yes_ ," Illusion said fervently. "Please, do!  What do you ask in return?"

     "Only the chance to impart some of an old mech's wisdom." Alpha Trion said with a kind smile. "Stand here, before me, facing one another, please." He led them to the raised floor on one side of the room, before the window.  Ironhide, Infirmary, and Nightbringer stood aside, on the lower floor, watching affectionately.

     The old mech straightened himself up, towering over them, smiling kindly still. "Are you ready?" He asked softly.

     Both nodded.

     "Very well." He straightened his shoulders and his voice took on a more ceremonial, cadenced tone as he lifted it to fill the room. "In Devotion, you stand before us, Supporting one another to no end, and Trusting the other with everything you have. You have built the foundations of gold beneith your pedes. The Thirteen whose names have been lost to time stand here with me in spirit, here to bless the bond you have created between you. The bond is still incomplete however, missing the single pillar of your vows. Speak them to one another now."

     "Until the road comes to an end, until all light fades, and Unicron rises again, I will love you, support you, trust you." Ratchet recited, taking her hands. "I offer you my spark, Illusion of Velocitron, to keep always, to carry for me.  Not to own, but to share in my devotion."

     "Ratchet of Praxus, I accept your gift and offer you mine in return, to keep always, to carry for me, not to own, but to share in my devotion." Illusion replied. "And until the road comes to an end, until all light fades, and Unicron rises again, I too shall love, support, and trust you."

      Alpha Trion gave a satisfied smile. "Upon this altar of gold you stand. Let the strength of the Thirteen fill you, just as your love for one another did, and let this bond be blessed." He covered their hands with his own, pressing them together, and bowed his head in ceremony before smiling and releasing them.

     Illusion gave Ratchet a giddy grin, which he returned, before suddenly throwing her arms around his neck cables in a tight embrace.  He hugged her tightly back, both laughing with joy as he spun her down to the slightly lower floor.  Ironhide clapped him on the shoulder, laughing as well, grinning at Illusion.

     When the Conjunx broke apart it was only for Ratchet to be immediately pulled into a hug by his Creatrix.  When Infirmary pulled away she smiled at him affectionately. "I always did want to see my bitlet bonded.  And now I have." She touched the side of his helm, her smile becoming a little sad. "Sunbright would be so proud of you.  I know that I am."

     Ratchet swallowed hard and hugged her again, speechless.

     Beside them, Nightbringer and Illusion had grasped only forearms and exchanged kisses on both cheeks. "I'm proud of you, little one," Nightbringer said softly. "You always deserved the life he will give you."

     Illusion smiled back, leaning her helm against his lovingly. "Thank you, Carrier," She said quietly, "For encouraging me to go after him."

     "We gonna stand here all day?" Ironhide teased. "I'm all outta emotional slag right abaout now."

     The group laughed. "You all go ahead, we'll be there in a moment," Ratchet said, hand on Illusion's arm.  Their family exchanged glances and moved toward the door, and the two bondmates turned to Alpha Trion. "You said you had some wisdom you wanted to share?" Ratchet couldn't keep the huff out of his voice.

     Alpha Trion smiled mischievously at him. "Did I?" He said vaguely.  Then he turned serious. "All of you, wait a moment." He fixed his gaze on each of them in turn. "You all have your parts to play in what is coming," He said evenly. "The Healer, the Warrior, the Shadow . . ." Ratchet, Ironhide, and Nightbringer, who looked disturbed to be included. "And the Creatrices." He said, shifting to Infirmary and Illusion. "Every spark has a part.  Choose wisely in how you play yours."

     "What does that even mean." Ratchet said flatly.

     The old mech just laughed. "That has yet to be seen, my young friend.  Until our roads intersect again." He nodded deeply to them and left the room.

     "The frag was that." Ironhide asked, abruptly shattering the silence.

     "I have no idea." Ratchet replied resignedly. "The ramblings of an old mech, I suppose." He looped an arm around Illusion's waist with a smile. "Let's go home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to end the series here, you can. The fluff of this fic ends with this chapter. Next one includes death and angst necessary for my overarching plot.


	26. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Infirmary starts off for home, and our protagonists must say their goodbyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While reading keep an eye out for another guest appearance of a canon character.

     "Well.  This is it." Infirmary said, transforming and resting her hands on her hips.  The station by the gates was nearly empty; only Ratchet had accompanied her, with Ironhide at work and Illusion deciding they needed the privacy. She stood in a place where the only bot near seemed to be absorbed in a quiet comm call.  She heard her son transform behind her and walk to join her, and turned to smile at him. "You've done well for yourself here, Ratchet.  Keep up the good work."

     Ratchet smiled faintly. "Thank you.  Your approval has always meant the world to me.  I'll do my best to keep in better touch this time."

     "As will I." She smiled back and hugged him. "Be good to your mate," She added gently. "She's a fragile little thing in some ways.  This will be hard for her, no matter how much she loves you."

     "I know." Ratchet touched his chestplate almost unconsciously, feeling the tentative spark bond they'd established the lunar cycle after the cementing of the Ritus.  That had been two solar cycles ago and it still warmed his spark. "And you know I will be.  Take care of yourself.  You were so exhausted when you came."

     Infirmary laughed a little. "Oh, you're such a worrier, my bitlet."

     "And where could I have gotten _that_ from, Creatrix?" Ratchet replied dryly, though he too was grinning.

     She laughed harder.  And continued to laugh, though it changed tone, until she wasn't laughing anymore, her voice box spitting static, choking and stumbling into her son.  He cried out with shock and supported her, lowering her carefully to the ground and kneeling as her optics flickered.  He was running a scan almost before he could actively think, medical protocols kicking on to keep his emotions from interfering with his job.  Her spark was flickering in her chest, condensing and flaring in turn, beyond a normal spark pulse, each condensing going smaller.

     _Spark attack_.  But _why_?  There was nothing wrong with her!  There was no medical _reason_ for her spark to be flickering out and he couldn't _do_ anything for her here on the street.  He commed the hospital with a Priority One call. "Femme with a spark attack at the West Gate on Main.  Need immediate medical response." He snapped out, optics scanning the few people in the station for someone, anyone who looked capable of moving her into his alt-mode, vaguely noticing a mech in the back who seemed to be praying.

     Her EM field was on the fritz, but when it abruptly faded from his senses, he looked down at her in alarm.  Infirmary's optics were offline and her field gone. "No," He muttered, scanning again, emotions threatening to override his medical protocols. "No!"

     "Ratchet," Infirmary lightly gripped his knee, more static leaving her vocalizer than his name. "Hurts . . ."

     "I'm doing everything i can," Ratchet hurried to tell her. "Hang on, Creatrix.  Please - no - no!"

     Her spark flickered out from his scanner.  He tried again in desperation and received the same readings.  Her spark had extinguished.

     Shaky medical protocols still in place, Ratchet commed the hospital again. "Belay the team to the West Gate on the spark attack call.  It's too late." He didn't wait for a response before shutting the comm, and his medical protocols, down.

     Without the emotional suppressant program running he felt as though he'd been stabbed through the spark.  He curled over his mother's body, unable to stay upright, releasing a static sob as gray began to creep across her white and black armor. "No," He gasped, coolant flooding his optics. "No, Primus, no, not her, not yet!" His entire frame shook, releasing a haunting wail of grief.

     "Hey, you're disturbing the other - oh Primus!" The station manager had been irritated but now he stepped back with wide optics. "Just - who are you?  Who should I call for you?"

     Ratchet hardly heard him.  No, no no no no no, this was not how this was supposed to end!  This _couldn't be_ how Infirmary's life ended!  No, not from a spark attack, not collapsing in a station, with a doctor, her _creation_ , right there, when he couldn't help her!  He had saved so many others why did _hers_ have to be the life he lost?!  He pulled her up against him in a final hug, burying his face in her shoulder pauldron, systems giving a whine to match the sobs from his vocalizer.  His face, her shoulder, both soaked with tears. "No, Creatrix, no," _you can't leave this way_.

     : _Ratchet?_ : Illusion's voice came over their tentative spark bond and he gave another wracking sob. : _Sweetspark what's wrong?  I can feel you from home, please, what's happened?_ :

     He did his best to send her back a wordless explanation, not sure how successful he was.  _Death-Creatrix-grief_ was the only real information that reached her.

     : _Oh, no, no!  Stay strong, sweetspark, I'll be right there, I promise._ : Illusion told him.

     "Sir," The station manager was saying again, gently. "Is there anyone I can call for you?"

     Ratchet took a deep cycle, still crying but at least able to speak now, with Illusion sending him pulses of comfort. "Mate is coming." He whispered.

     "Okay.  If you need anything, any help, let me know." The manager replied. "I'll be right in there." He gestured to the station office. "We've got a dispatch if you need help transporting her where you need her."

     Ratchet shook his helm and was just grateful when the mech left.  Infirmary's plating was growing cold even where he touched it and he sobbed again, letting her settle back on the ground, not wanting to feel the last remnants of life fade.  He covered his faceplates with his hands and wept.

     His Creatrix, the femme who had raised him, taught him, encouraged him, loved him his whole lifestream - she was gone.  His sire, too, gone long before, none of them with siblings.  His family - gone.  All of it.  She'd been alive at least before, and now she had been taken from him forever by a freak spark attack.  Leaving him alone.

     He didn't hear the high-performance racing engine, but he did feel the soft hands on his shoulders and the loving, grieving, comforting pulse in his spark.  He leaned shamelessly on Illusion.

      No.

      Not alone.

 

* * *

 

 

     Damus left the station when the femme's corpse turned gray.  In a low tone into his com unit, he said evenly, "Job's done.  What kind of problem did you have with her anyway?"

     "That's none of your concern.  Just do as you're told, or I can hand you over to the Senate, outlier."

     Damus gritted his dentae. "Fine.  What now?"

     "Go to Tarn.  The Prime wants optics on Shockwave and that little Academy he's founded."

     "And how exactly do you expect me to spy on the Senator?" Damus growled.

     "For now, just concern yourself with getting there without talking anyone _else_ to death, Glitch." The comm line was cut off.

     Damus gritted his dentae again but headed for the South Gate on Main.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. I needed her dead for my overarching plot.


End file.
